Involuntary Admissions

Jaclyn screams for another Tootsie Roll,

the backseat banter of three six-year-olds

on the way to gymnastics.

I am still afraid to eat, disregarding

the tuna salad in my Mickey Mouse lunchbox.

My teacher

asks my mother

if I will ever eat again.

I like to be small;

a Barbie doll on the balance beam.

I like to be weightless;

floating, flying, falling into the foam block pit.

No one tells Jaclyn to be hush up,

and I can smell the watered down chocolate

on her mouth.

My mother is driving, and I know

she can’t stand the noise, too, like me,

she prefers the quiet of being alone.