Wildfires

Today, I bought a pair of pants.
Cigarette pants, black as ink, made of denim.
I know that they’re three sizes too small
But that doesn’t bother me, not one bit.
Ana told me it will be my motivation.

My goal.

So, there I stand, just like any other day,
In front of the mirror that shows all my
Imperfections,
Failures,
Progress.

She knows the truth:
Your arms are getting a tad chunky, see?
Two bony fingers pinch the skin on my arms.
Oh, and those legs are horrendous, sweetie!
She notices the nonexistent gap between them.
Your cheekbones have been replaced by cherub cheeks.
There is a slight rosy hue that creeps onto my face.
Where have your hipbones gone, my dear, sweet Iris?
They’re hiding beneath layers of blubber I will rid myself of.

Those black cigarette pants will fit me
And it will be just in time for Christmas.

Wouldn’t that be a lovely gift?