by Mia Poirier
Lately it feels like I’ve got my head stuck in a bucket of yogurt.
I’m seeing white everywhere and I can’t breathe. I’m lactose intolerant.
Lately it feels like I’ll never find peace with dairy products,
with my stomach that groans at every bite of cheese. With this.
You never let me eat whipped cream. I was allowed ice cream
but never the artfully placed mountain of whip. Not even
the fruit on top. You protected me at dessert restaurants, you tried.
I stubbornly gulped chocolate, vanilla, and didn’t take suggestions.
All your favorite foods came loaded with melted cheese,
but I can’t go within two feet of a lasagna without a coma.
Today I bought two pounds of mozzarella, grated it slowly,
and pretended I was making you an apology.