Thin Dust

Alva Holland

Alter, lengthen hem, shorten cuff, pinch waist. 

Transform, go unrecognisable, invisible. 

Convert, assume another shape, another identity. 

Change, that dreaded thing, that welcome thing. 

Hide fat bones with long sleeves, collars. 

Ignore the weakened teeth, the concave stomach. 

Still see the fat bones, unhidden by sweaters, loose hanging things. 

Absorb the stares, mistake them for admiration. 

Avoid the mirrors, their lies, their misrepresentation. 

Be missing at mealtimes – get better at this. 

Put up defences – walls of fat bones. 

Keep the love out, barricade it.  

Do not weaken resolve. 

Do not cry. 

Change, that dreaded thing. 

Fat bones to thin dust.

Alva Holland is an Irish writer from Dublin. First published by Ireland’s Own Winning Writers Annual 2015 and three times a winner of Ad Hoc Fiction’s flash competition, her stories feature in The People’s Friend, Ellipsis Zine, Train Lit Mag, Brilliant Flash Fiction, The Cabinet of Heed and Jellyfish Review. Find her on Twitter (@Alva1206).