Thank you. Thank you for being there with me through all of these things. You are the only one who’s seen all of it. Who knows what really happened.
Thank you for putting me into shock that night when I opened my skull on the brick below the wood burning stove, shivering against my father’s body as he cradled me in my favorite blanket and took me to the hospital. It was the only way a child so small could be still long enough to make it through.
Thank you for my freckles, dark constellations on my pallor. Thank you for skin like a wick, that takes Sharpie well, and the bizarre markings I make connecting the dots, or scribbling a phone number, or inking designs over calloused hands used to work and roughness.
Thank you for my terrible brown eyes that in their nearsightedness have afforded me the sweetest odd intimacies, unable to see until my lashes scrape the faces of the ones I love.
Thank you for flexible quadriceps and unholy tense hamstrings. Thank you for untamable wavy hair, and tiny sinuses that clog so often that on the few clear days I have, the whole world smells new. Thank you for keeping records with my scars.
Thank you for reminding me to eat, for throwing fits and shakes when I want to disappear myself in tininess. Thank you for not letting me be too tiny, for demanding glucose.
Thank you for my reflexes, which have let me live another day. One more inch, body, just one more inch, and it would have been different…
Thank you. That’s all I wanted to say.