for nine years, you called my sisters and i names -
names like "hog", "piggy", and "oinker".
you berated and belittled us for our weight,
told us that no one would date fatties like us.
you told our mother, the woman you profess to love,
that she would look better if she would just
lose a couple of pounds; criticized her
until she developed a disorder, an obsession
that i feel every time i hug her fragile shoulders,
shoulders that were not meant to carry the burden of this.
you compared us endlessly to your own
flawless, rail-thin daughters, bullying them
into silence at the first syllable of protest.
it took nine years to come to this.
when you "teased" my baby sister tonight
in the middle of the chinese buffet for
how little food she had on her plate,
she stood up and looked straight at you
and your own gluttonous portions and said,
"because you taught me not to be fat."
as she walked away, you looked at our mother
and demanded to know if she was just going to let that go.
i held my breath, but she only looked back at you and smiled.