They keep telling me what my body is meant for.Its shape perfect for child bearing, the hips broad and easy, the lap wide enough.They talk about my breasts. Small, but they’ll do.No doubt they talk about my vagina (except they call it The Oh My!) and whether it’s young and tight and what it will become later.They are so very prosaic…Turning my body into a textbookCase of What a Woman Should Be.A textbook with one page andThreeBulletPoints.The kind of textbook one doesn’t look at all year, and then mugs up hurriedly before suhaag raat.Little do they know.My body begins with my eyebrows.I can raise them one at a timeIn amusement, or sometimes disbelief.They are imperfect arches on either side of my frown linesThat show up when I am displeased at youOr you.Perhaps you as well.
They wouldn’t talk of my eyes and how I can look upThrough my lashes, just soMaking contact without touchingYet.While my lips partEver so slightly, turning up at the cornersBut always a little crooked.As though my smile is yours for the taking,But I can take it back at any time.
I wonder if they heard about the back of my neckThat tender line that is exposed when I put my hair upThe place where my scent is at its most potentSometimes, I will raise my hand slowly,Place it on my neckAnd stroke.I do this whenever I am uncertain and would you be so kind as to reassure me?
Have they considered That one errant strand of hairThat I always keep looseSo that I may tuck it behind my earYou see, I can be coy, a little shyI can be anythingI want me to be.
What do they know of the power of my shouldersThat brush lightly by the bodies I likeWhen I look back over the right shoulder, I am appraising you.When I rest my hand on the left and massage it gently,Your eyes will be drawn to my hand on my skinTo that perfectly touchable spot where neck melts into shoulder.
Think of my hands.Imagine how they linger on yours,How often they come up and laughingly cup your cheekSometimes, I’ll be grateful and touch your shoulder gentlyThank you, you made this touch possible.Thank YOU, you made me wonder what else is possible.
Did they even think about the small of my back,The tops of my thighsThe cross of my calvesAs I lean in during a conversationMy elbow casually placedTwo inches from yoursJust know I’m closeKnow I will listenNotice meI will notice you.I will tell youThat some days my body is a sonnet,Yesterday it was a dirty limerickToday, I don’t know… there are too many possibilities.So much poetry, so much pleasure.
Not that they would know…
