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perfectly imperfect

remember when we were eight
and we loved our bodies
celebrated them
by using them
to their fullest potential
hopping over a stream
skipping a rock on still water
our biggest concern
the perilous lava bubbling below a long stretch of monkey bars
remember when our bodies were everything
we relied on our bodies to carry us everywhere
never giving our looks more than a second of our time
i wish we could return to those simplistic days
of celebrating our bodies by relying on them
rather than focusing on our physical insecurities
thankful each day that they carried us through it

until this body is taken from me
i will celebrate it

perfectly imperfect
this is my body
and it carries me well

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we are

sometimes i wish we could see ourselves for what we truly are
free from society’s mirror
free from our own
we are so much more than the bodies our spirits are confined to

we are love
we are adventure
we are wild
we are peace
we are strength
we are passion
we are determination
we are joy
we are connection
we are

one day
when we look back at the photographs
may we only see memories
the cellulite will disappear
how much we weighed will be insignificant
and the crows feet will fade away
until all we see is a life well lived
relationships well tended
and a body that allowed us to accomplish these things
a body well loved

-who we really are

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six years

they say time heals all wounds
my broken heart says otherwise
time is so repetitious
unrelenting
inescapable
it’s getting warmer and i haven’t smelled a drop of rain in weeks
time
always present in the changing seasons
reminds me where i was years earlier
just when i think i am doing alright
my body remembers
if time heals all wounds
why must this season come each year?

-six years, still waiting

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those first days i

you’re so strong
so brave
graceful
they said
as
if
i
had
a
choice

i wanted to tear the sun from the sky
but my fingers couldn’t reach

i wanted to curl up in the centre of the earth
but she wouldn’t make room for me

i wanted to sink to the depths of the sea
but she refused to swallow me up

so i rose each morning instead

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July 31, 2012

breasts leaking
abdomen glued back together
a drop of blood traces its way down my leg
“where’s the baby” my body asked
afraid to hear the answer
“he’s gone” i whispered
and we wept together
my body and i

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perspective

when i was twelve, a boy likened my arms and legs to those of a woolly mammoth, so i shaved my legs and wore long sleeves for far too long

when i was sixteen, my body turned against me, made sleep painful and hallways daunting, i began to wish for the strength of the mighty mammoth

now at thirty-three, i wear two deep lines upon my face, marvelous mammoth tusks, embraced gifts of time and perspective, just waiting to be wielded

never again will my body be minimized by a comment.

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the willow

mighty arms outstretched
a resting place
a peaceful place
home to many
happily giving
hauntingly beautiful
and then the storm
callous and cold
it didn’t care how much she had provided
it didn’t care how well she had been loved
far more than she could bear
no one would have blamed her if she had given up
but it wasn’t in her nature

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these days

you say i’ll miss these days
of punctuated sleep
terrible tantrums
and fresh cookies smears on my bathroom sink
but i already do
as a parent
i simultaneously see all sorts of realities
one where our kids are happy and grown
they’ve made it to adulthood
unscathed by their overthinking mother
and another
where i don’t have children at all
they’ve been erased from this earth by disease or some horrific accident
so even though i’m writing this at 2 am
sleep interrupted by the intermittent crying and comforting of my sweet and trying daughter
i am grateful for days like these