I look into the bag.

I think of Pick

asking me who I am,

look over at Lisa sleeping.

I think of my before picture

and how far I’ve come.

I feel the sand in my toes,

and the warm sun

and ocean air.

I’m desperate.

I want to hold my diet book

like holy scripture,

to pray a spell of protection

over my soul,

but I don’t.

Instead,

I open the bag,

feel the salt of the first chip

settle on my tongue.

The taste blocks the noise.

I don’t stop

until the sides

have all been licked clean.

July

Promises

The Diet Book promises that Four Beautiful Things will happen:

1. I will be free from hunger.

I still want ice cream all the time.

2. I will notice an increase in well-being.

I do feel better.

3. I will notice the pounds dropping off.

Let them drop into the abyss. Let them scream as they fall.

4. I will experience a decrease in measurements that the tape measure can tell me about in detail.

Will I still need to go to the big and tall shop?

Then He Left

When I get out of the shower,

I hear the sliding metal

of my father’s keys.

I dry off,

get dressed,

and walk out to see him.

Ari, he says.

Sit down.

His words

are thick paste.

He says he has to go away,

get some money for the business.

Things are tough.

I’ll be back soon, Ari,

but I have to go away for a while.

Don’t worry, he says. I have a plan.

I smile. Look at his eyes. Take a deep breath.

I believe him. He lifts his duffel bag by the door,

the keys to the Sunbird

already in his

hand.

He leans over,

kisses me on the forehead.

I love you, you mensch,

and he goes.

July Fourth

I

Pick’s mom drops him off in the morning.

We spend the day at the beach,

and by sunset we sit on the roof.

Me, Pick, Lisa

position ourselves

for the fireworks.

The roof feels safe

and far away from everything.

We watch the cars

in a radiant line

from the mountain road

shining into every beach lot.

Families shift street to street,

streamers, flags, sparklers,

the occasional POP.

We eat sunflower seeds,

spit the shells into the dirt

far below us.

Pick spits a seed into the distance,

looks straight ahead.

I have to go to Australia, he says.

What! I say. Why?

It’s a family reunion, mate.

He fakes an accent.

I feel the summer suddenly shrink.

How come you didn’t tell me? I ask.

We have plans.

He holds out his hands,

folds them into fists.

Because I didn’t want you to get mad.

I understand what he means.

I don’t like change.

II

The fireworks

bloom above the cobalt sea.

Pick and Lisa talk about Australia.

Later, at the nursery,