by K. Fleig
I tried to disown my body.
It wasn’t the one I wanted.
I worked it too hard,
dressed it in whatever came my way,
and fed it junk.
But while bowing at the end of my yoga class,
hands in prayer
acknowledging the liquid crystal display people,
I noticed my legs.
Thighs above knees,
more leg above feet,
and I recognized them.
These are the same legs that
walked when I didn’t have money to ride,
stood for hours while I served coffee and food and drink,
were groped during a doctor’s visit,
and spread when I chose to
or when I was too young to challenge.
These are the same feet that, for a few dollars, posed for my roommate’s class and squeezed into too tight shoes to
This is the same body that long ago
ran across grass, delighted by wind,
rolled down hills, picking up speed in a dizzying rush of joy
and swung way way high to the sky
only to be beaten and shaken like a rag doll.
This is the body that protected me
from men who threatened,
and some said “so late” incubated and gave life to humans.
How do I dare to
angrily pinch my fat,
wish away my wrinkles,
or threaten my grey hairs with a bottle of dye?
my body brought me to where I stand now,
staring into the void of uncountable pixels.