Big Brain

This extra twenty pounds
is my brain getting bigger
everyday—things you can’t know
in your small-boned frame. Slim
is not a word you would use
to describe me, though I can fake
waif on call, like a doll
with three answers for everything:
“Yes,” “I will,” and “It’s my fault.”

I take off my shirt and you say
my breasts are much larger
than you imagined. Just imagine
if you could open my skull,
what a heap would fall
in your lap and anchor you
there till I was done talking.
Boulders of rebel thought
weighing you down, an avalanche
of fantastic reason that could
bury you alive.

Truth is not this heavy,
but the seeking of truth
is like a grand piano on the back
of a stooge, wavering, balancing,
moving forward with pain
and awkward gestures
in a comedy of elephants.
Even I am laughing as I stumble,
my neck quivering beneath
the ever-growing load
of day-old wisdom.

And therein lies the beauty
of this big brain o’ mine.
No hat can contain it,
no beast can tame it.
It is fat with acceptance,
bulging with desire,
refusing narrow spaces,
the walls of skin and bone.

—Leslie Anne Mcilroy