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
List of my lost body parts, some found
Tongue. Found balled up in an inside-out pant leg while pulling laundry out of the dryer. Slightly felted. No longer…
Letter to an old friend (who might contain my younger self)
Dearheart, you’re not the person I walked with. It isn’t you in this blurred polaroid. Remember: I learned your lips…
Slow download over a weak open WiFi connection
Curtain flicker: your eyes, no—my eyes, nighttime windows: women walking half-naked back-lit big screen TV, what am I watching? No…