Katie Eleanor

The O, a ten thirty check-in in February. Surrender. You surrender. You surrender to The O. They tell you you will build the stain-glass windows for your church from a solid amber nectar, and that the sacred illness will not be allowed there. By eleven forty-five they measure your arms like the scars on a birch tree (all-seeing) and a nurse will tell you how old and sick you are. You are not allowed to cut your fruit, (they use the words fruit and flesh interchangeably), and so instead it bleeds on the plate.

A fasting Hummingbird flutters/flusters into the Dietician’s office. The aura of the room is purple/violet/indigo/lilac. The Dieitican wears purple/violet/indigo/lilac. A fasting Hummingbird sits perfectly still: without energy to be ephemeral, he is instead solid in his starvation. His heart does not flutter/fluster, it is instead perfectly still. Sculpture, yes, sculpture. You could draw him in his stillness, like he is stuffed, like he is not faerie. On a fasting Hummingbird you can see that his wings are green and blue and yellow and purple/violet/indigo/lilac.

In March they try to take away your spoons, too, and encourage you to start using your teeth again. You will take whole classes to learn to bite, and at first you practice upon yourself like Lover.