At 21

Caroline Jones is undertaking the Creative Writing MA.

At night she buries herself

          in sleep. Her palms

          protecting the mattress

          from scalpel hips.


At 5am she snaps

          on the light above the sink

          catching a shadow reaching

          for a spoonful of cereal.


At weekends she sneaks

          around department stores

          to stand on scales

          in bathroom sections.


                    As a child, her dad called her Miss Ribs.

                    Now she’s Bones.