Spinach

When I was twenty-nine, I started eating vegetables.

I put steamed spinach in my mouth and fell to the floor.

I held my knees to my chest, trying not to retch. The spinach was juicy. I had been raised on feeding tubes and soft diets — silky ice cream and yogurt. Now, I had a tree in my mouth and it seemed to be leaking.

I tried to hold the spinach in my mouth. I did not want to eat ice cream anymore. I did not want to die.

I also wanted to vomit. I spit out my spinach.

My first thought: This is interesting. I hadn’t known this was going to happen.

I steamed spinach again the next week. I hid it in pasta like a parent might.

Spinach became one of my favorite foods.