If I lose the weight
I imagine it won’t be the same
And that now, with the roundness
Of youth and hormones gone
My stomach will not cup softly
Like a meadow green and dotted
With wildflowers ready to be plucked
But will fall sharply in rumpled mounds
All the roots and rocks sticking out
Like the creek cuts the bank as it bends,
All mud and silt and fast eddies ripple.