Just about everybody has some sort of eating disorder. Some eat
too little, some too much.
—Carole Curb, friend of Karen Carpenter
You saw yourself in the mirror,
and your artist’s view painted
pounds over pencil thinness.
I face my reflection, see a little extra,
then turn sideways, see a fatso.
It doesn’t keep me from eating.
The doctor wants me to cut down on pizza,
pasta, M&Ms. I imagine seeing food
like you did—barbarians pounding
at your castle gate, pushing to gain entry
and wreak havoc. My friend, a therapist,
tells me of anorexic clients who love
to cook but refuse to eat, fearing loss
of control. The reverse is true for me.
I love food, cannot refuse it for long.
As for my cooking, the last time I prepared
a casserole for an ailing neighbor,
she thanked me politely and returned
the dish, untouched save one spoonful.
I think it needs salt, she said.
from Letters to Karen Carpenter and Other Poems
Richard Allen Taylor, Poet 