Stranger

The Feeling of hipbones against the bed, as I write.

An hourglass, with a waist smaller than I recognize.

The face in the mirror that looks like a woman who looks like me. But not really.

The glass door of the store freezer that closes - with her in it.

Three boxes of chocolate covered almonds on the counter - untouched.

No appetite, no real desire to eat.

Who is this woman in my house? Who is that in my mirror? Standing in the kitchen, shaking her head and walking away?…