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?
My song, to me, the way I need it sung
Posted inCreative Writing, Poetry Posted by By Jessica Coles November 5, 2021
Last updated on December 6, 2021
Jessica Coles (she/her) is a poet and editor from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada (Treaty 6 territory), where she lives with her family and a judgmental tuxedo cat named Miss Bennet. Many years ago, she got a B.A. in linguistics that she currently uses to write love poems. Her work has appeared in Prairie Fire, Moist Poetry Journal, and You are a Flower Growing off the Side of a Cliff: a chapbook about mental health and resiliency (League of Canadian Poets chapbook series). Her first chapbook, unless you’re willing to evaporate, is available through Prairie Vixen Press. She often tweets micropoems and creative encouragement as @milkcratejess.
New memories for dark fields
Who wants to hear your dreams?