Dear woman, love your belly. Wrap yourself in handwoven dresses; let starwhispers linger in your ears. Don’t dismiss your wisdom just because it’s incomplete. You learned how to tend your fireglow soul; you know flames don’t always equal heat; you know coals need companions. Offer your sinking eyes benedictions, sing psalms to their crinkles. Let your throat court gravity in a slow burn romance. Consider: no one can define your capacity for beauty. Will you choose your own loveliness? Blow kisses to your reflection every day? Who will teach your children to write love letters to themselves, if not you?
Related Posts
I am not one thing. I can only be one thing at a time.
My first month off work didn’t have as much writing as I’d hoped. My time seemed to get nibbled by…
Talk to me about the letter H
Here is unshaped breath. Can I rename this sleeping air? This sound is an ocean, older than voice. It still…
Premonitions arrive at my house, with and without invitations
The flyers that are delivered despite the “No Junk Mail” sticker on my mailbox are an omen. If there’s a…
