Strut

After birthing twins
my friend whittled
herself back to hourglass.
She describes the black sand,
her turquoise bikini, pride,
seeing herself strut again.

I will never wear one again,
I say. Then show.
The pot, the loose skin,
the lightning bolts, the rain
streaks across my belly.

I wear the turbulent body
of a stranger. Sharp,
soft until the hill
of broken muscle
announcing life
beyond my life.

I thank my bones,
my broken muscles,
I thank the woman I was,
and the woman I am.

Slowly, I learn
to strut again.

______

My gratitude goes to the fantastic poets at Women Writers in Bloom Poetry Salon who first published this piece on their blog last year.

For more of my writing from the frontlines of womanhood read my first collection of poetry Karma’s Footsteps or download my free booklet Mother Nature.

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