Yesterday, at the grocery store, I bought a peach, for no other reason than because I wanted to.
I took it home and stood at my kitchen counter — one hand resting against the cool of the quartz, the other cradling the peach’s velvet curve.
I took a bite.
I let the nectar run down to my elbow.
To me, it was like the summer sun rested on my tongue.
And I thought, then, of the days when my eating disorder taught me a different language. When food meant fear, and starvation felt like a form of power.
When everything I put in my mouth seemed like a threat.
And I am struck, now, by the way everything in this world is a sign or a symbol …
A green leaf.
All life is language, and we are the ones who get to decide what each hieroglyph means…
I am Adam; I am Eve; I am naming everything all over again.
I chew the peach slowly.
This — I tell you — is power.