To the fat woman in economy class who spilled over into my seat 

Lu Chekowsky

we ruined each other’s lives for six hours straight; fat origami.

you, the crane. me, speckled paper, unfolded.

i smiled at you when i sat. solidarity?

one fat lady on a plane is enough, i could see you think.

they made us lift our blankets to prove we had seatbelts fastened.

oh look at these two sneaky fat ladies. we see you,

you pigs. i passed the test.

you didn’t.

the armrest became the battlefield.

your shoulders grew as we shot across the ocean.

big body; all hot bones, water, anger vibrating. our thighs pressing.

a damp heat. let’s not talk about our asses.

your muscles contracted ten times a minute; a heartbeat of fat.

you tried to pull in your legs that could not be pulled in, fanned yourself with flipper hands.

it was not as hot as you thought it was,

i can tell you that.

your breath moved my chest up and down.

i didn’t want to breathe with you,

but there we were, one fat thing. the sky too small for us.

i was just so tired. made no contractions.

couldn’t be smaller if i tried.

lifted the other arm rest. the one on the aisle and was halfway to standing for hours.

pardon me, but this is not your space, sang the flight attendant,

thrilled to ram her cart into my side.

i considered whispering: why are we this way, anyway?

but already knew.

someone far away had decided the dimensions.

it was now our job to make ourselves fit.