5 September 2008, 10:27 AM
I never believed my Ten Year Reunion would come.
It's four years gone.
My faded jeans don't fit the way they did
five years ago. I find my washboard has diminished
imperceptibly to a soft-sided hamper, spills over denim
whose dimensions have defined the entirety of my person
since highschool. I begin to realize the efficacy of a corset,
surrounded as I am by so many calorie counters
and thighless waifs. Whose consent I seek to be a woman,
as my body and mind define womaness, I cannot say.
I recall the recent, admiring words of a well-meaning friend--
he said I'd not changed a stitch in fourteen years.
I know better. I have.
What if he could see the hard-body-gone-soft with years
and child-bearing, as it should, as is not allowed
in this age of silicone and suction, of Atkins and all-protein
diets which rob the body of years and deliver something
so much less than life? What of his approval then?
What of affirmation I choose to take from such insinuations?
Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith