Defining A Girl

When I speak about my daughter
I never say, "She's anorexic."
I say, "She has anorexia."
This is not semantics.
When I speak about my daughter
I hope that between
the spaces of the words
what you will hear
is that one night,
when I was a
young mother
of one young daughter
I said, "I want to have another
baby," and I conceived
her in that same night.
She was anxious to get here.
I hope you will hear the
long-standing family
joke about how
her sisters would
tease her about being
the middle child
when she was little
not as special as being
the oldest or the youngest
and I would wink
and say, "Yeah, sure.
But you're the one I planned."
And she would stop
crying and skip off sing-song
taunts that she was
too just as special.
When I speak her name,
what I hope
you are getting
is that when she was
born, the doctor broke
her clavicle
in her rush to be finished
so she could leave
on a fishing trip
in two hours,
and that was the
catalyst for finding
a new way of birthing,
and ultimately
deciding I did not want
to be a child psychologist,
but a midwife
and how crazy it was
that this girl came
into the world
with such dramatic
streaks of white
blonde in her hair
that the nurses
cooed
that she was born
with a dye job
and I have not seen her
natural hair color
since she was ten years old
and it is currently black
with bright blue and green
pieces.
She always dyes it herself
and does it as well
as any professional.
When you say her name
you may smile
at the fact
that although
she has blonde hair
blue eyes
pale, pale skin
her name is Asia
and she is
always thrilled when
some stranger
not knowing her name
stops her and asks
if she is half Asian
because of her almond
shaped eyes and facial structure
because she is obssessed
with Japan
and we don't know where
those features came from.
Maybe her name.
I hope you catch an echo
of the time
she was waiting
at a bus stop
and an old man fell
his bicycle
on top of his legs
and other than her
not one person
moved to help him
and even though
she is usually shy
she turned to them
and said, "What the fuck
is wrong with you?"
or maybe you'll
catch the reverb
from a guitar
played behind closed
doors
she is self-taught
and good at it
but won't play
in front of anyone
but her cat
she just does it
for her.
But maybe you
won't hear
any of it
because you'll
be too immersed
in her artwork
insanely
talented, she
wants to be a tattoo
artist
and the first tattoo
she designed
was for me
and someday
as soon
as I can afford it
My arm will have
the illusion of peeled
back skin
blue sky underneath
revealed
birds flying out
of a frayed
feather
over a compass
and one word,
Land.
Land.
Land.
Land.
Figure out
where you are
don't take
flight
get your head
out of the clouds
be present
keep your feet
planted
on the ground
because humans
are more capable
than birds
less frail
than birds
choose your
direction
be your own
guide
live on the ground
when
she eats something
and doesn't
puke afterwards
she is as brave
as anything
she stares down
the thing she has to
overcome
and sometimes
she cries
and sometimes
she can't
and sometimes
she changes
her mind
after a bite
and sometimes
she
says she would
rather die
and sometimes
she would
probably
rather I die
but sometimes
she conquers
Everest
and takes a bite
brave.
Because she has
anorexia
but she is not
anorexia
she is Asia
she is my daughter
she is herself
she is.
The word defines
her illness
not her.