I never look at myself in the mirror.
My own femininity
Is something I’ve chosen not to see.
But the other day
I caught a glimpse of my naked body,
Arms raised while brushing my hair.
She doesn’t look like she used to.
I thought the one gift
of small boobs
would be that at least they wouldn’t sag.
The skin around my belly button
rumpled and puckered
from expanding and contracting
to hold my children.
Everything too soft, too loose, too large.
Today I see her differently
I am surprised to see this body of mine
Is the body of a goddess.
Not the Goddess of Vogue.
But fertile Ishtar, Bridgid, Frejya, Demeter.
Depicted not in the fullness of youth
Or the fullness of being with child
After her body filled and emptied
Filled and emptied
And now she stands,
Low breasts, wide hips, full belly,
Soft, large, and round,
Grounded by the weight of Mother Earth,
Nourishing what she has made.
And for the first time
to look in the mirror a while
And be blessed
By all the weights
I’ve shed from my heart
And all the weights
I’ve carried with my body.