by Christine Taylor
Because most of the time I hate this body
stiff hip flexors, cracking knees
sore, cystic breasts
rolls and stretch marks
that appear in mirrored angles
I marvel when on the sidewalk
escorting at the women’s clinic
I swell by how completely I love this body
the brownness of it
its animal-like awareness, its speed getting to patients
the thickness of its thighs
the hip-switch in perfect-boot-cut jeans
the full ass that pushes antis out of the way
the magic that creates me giant
a force.
Despite all its failings
that this body can be a shield
deflecting Come to Lord Jesus Christ and be saved,
Walk in the newness of Life!
off my back
mighty like myth
legs spread
arms triangling out to my fellow escorts
the daisy chain we create
to bloom safety on the sidewalk
raptures me –
I hug my jacket more snugly around my core
tuck the loose ends of my T-shirt into my jeans
to keep warm.
Later, when I’m small again
scraping anxious fingernails
across wrinkled skin on my hands
I’ll try to recapture this feeling
of magnanimity
claw at the height of this other self
wonder at the price I’ve paid for it.
Christine Taylor, a multiracial English teacher and librarian, resides in her hometown Plainfield, New Jersey. She is the EIC of Kissing Dynamite: A Journal of Poetry and the haibun editor at OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters. Christine has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and her work appears in Modern Haiku, Glass, Room, and The Rumpus among others. She can be found at www.christinetayloronline.com.
(And don’t miss Christine’s Fireworks, another explosive poem. – Elephants Never)