To the girl drinking diet coke for lunch Leanna Kucinski
Sit there and sip your drink. Every glorious gulp of sweetness. Hope the fizz is enough to heal the gnawing monster in your stomach who claws and howls to be fed. Let the liquid bubble up inside -down from your once white sneakers to the top of your thinning blonde head until you finally have to explode. Let those shockwaves bring you to the night of your last little league game. Your Dad’s sharpie sign screams That’s my girl! When you miss and lose, he holds you in his teddy-bear rough arms. Dear God, don’t let him go. Please don’t one day end up like me, looking skinny in the black dress that you wear to your father’s funeral. Just keep your small hand in his all night.
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