Pining Away

With wilted eyes I walked outside alone, which was a safety I earned to be able to take smoke breaks on my own. I sat on a retaining wall and welcomed the chill that cradled my growing thighs. I couldn’t escape the constant ache of my skin stretching to accommodate necessary weight gain, but neither the dew hanging from the grassy back lawn, nor the tears from my eyes, were able to wash away my disorder. There was a veil of silver over my vision, and I kept searching for something that would encourage me to keep healing even though I just wanted to go home. But then I looked up, exhaling out, and saw a pine tree cradled between slivers of the morning blue sky. And my eyes cleared, moving, a subtle shift from my brown, which was covered by a cataract bark, a thin shade of an opaque gray, into something of delight, and one less part of me was no longer pining away.

Martha LaBine is a 26-year-old from Anoka, Minnesota. Her poetry has appeared in publications such as The Tower, East Fork Journal, Words of the Lamb Magazine, and more. She has a Creative Writing Certificate from Anoka-Ramsey Community College and a Bachelor of Science in psychology from Bemidji State University. Martha is currently attending Bethel University in order to earn her masters in clinical counseling. She is a follower of Christ whose clock runs most peacefully when she is spending time with God, surrounded by loved ones, writing, reading, and collecting rocks.