Wordless

She never even said her name,
came in, nodded yes, her first time,
started sobbing before the serenity prayer
when Jackie told Sandra she'd made the week,
no drive-through Blizzards, no apple fritters,
just three sane meals a day. Sandra jumped up,
hugged Jackie, and the new girl's face swelled,
mouth open, eyebrows raised, realization stamping
what we've all found here, people who see food
our way. Jona handed her the Kleenex
at "Our Invitation to You," "in the clutches
of a dangerous illness, and that willpower,
emotional health and self-confidence,
which some of us had once possessed,
were no defense against it." She grasped
a newcomer's coin, nodded, even grinned,
about "You put it under your tongue,
can eat anything you want when it dissolves."
I'm glad she signed the book. I'll call her,
maybe even her the voice of my new friend.