Fasting

My bony finger points to a popcorn ceiling
With the tip of my fingernail
I trace the meter of the white stucco's pattern
I measure the hills and valleys of its texture
Each hill, stressed
Each valley, unstressed

The alternation between high and low
Suggests elasticity
But I know this ceiling is as fixed to this house
As the sky is held firm by the sun's gilded rays of light

The body on the other hand
Stressess and compresses like nobody's business
I breathe in, drink a glass of water -- my stomach, a hill
I breathe out, I breathe out -- my stomach, a valley

Am I made out of air or water?
Can I be both?

Am I hunger or am I the will that fights it?
(Can I be both?)

My stomach swells with hunger
I clench my fist
drink some water, drink some coffee

This is religious whether I want it to be or not