Pound for Pound

I have to keep reminding myself-
pound for pound-
that I am healthier now.

My collar bones no longer thrust
out of my skin like a vulture’s wings,
picking at my dying skin.

My ribs went back into hiding,
back into the secret place where
they overlook the beating center

My breasts are full as glasses of wine,
nurturing and cheerful,
fresh-faced little milkmaids.

My stomach like the moon
rising over the hills,
or dough yet waiting to be baked.

I watch my skin reshaping,
forming around a new body
as if I were a Grecian goddess

stepping out of marble.
Once a block- then defined
pound for pound.

She is naked in her confidence;
all soft white slopes,
as far as the eye can see.