Most uses of the word weight in this version refer
to gold or precious metals—payment or offering
or proof of power. This should make me value myself
more, but it’s the opposite. Instead, I notice that only
once do the letters d-i-e-t appear referring to food.
Otherwise, they are only a part of dieth.
I don’t want to die, so I track my calories, aspire to
let not the greediness of the belly nor lust of the flesh
take hold of me. I cook new foods that are healthy
and nutritious, but always return to ones that are not,
the chocolate in my mouth sweet as honey.
A false balance is abomination to the LORD: but
a just weight is his delight. I wonder who decides
upon a just weight. The doctor always says I could
stand to lose a few, but warns it will be difficult at
this age. My fitness watch says the energy I burn
should make me smaller, but it never seems to happen.
If the belly of the wicked shall want, then Lord,
I will remain wicked, running hard against
the odds, always hungry.
Donna Vorreyer is the author of To Everything There Is (2020), Every Love Story is an Apocalypse Story (2016) and A House of Many Windows (2013), all from Sundress Publications. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Ploughshares, Waxwing, Poet Lore, Cherry Tree, Salamander, Harpur Palate, and other journals. She lives in the suburbs of Chicago where she serves as an associate editor for Rhino Poetry and hosts the monthly online reading series, A Hundred Pitchers of Honey.