Brush

a poem about the sacredness of a body.

Imagine you brushed your right hand

Along the curve of your left arm

And in an instant

You dismissed the sacredness of your body

With a single statement,

“Too big.”

Or you circled your left hand

Along the wreath of your belly,

Fingers dragging over flesh like birds grazing feathered branches

And you proclaimed it,

“Too soft.”

Words, discarded

You didn’t realize

You were wearing

The weight of worldly vision

Draped over your shoulders,

A judicial robe

Eyes narrowed

Like slits on a snake

Now imagine you looked down at this same body,

This same body that only existed once

In the entirety of time and space

And you beheld it with wonder

Under the left breast

A heart beating its’ own cadence

A heart that has ached with grief, leapt with joy,

Slowed and relaxed in the presence of loved ones

A belly that has felt

Both hunger and fullness

Butterflies when falling in love

A pit when something wasn’t quite right

A gut that said,

This is someone you can trust

Now imagine

You take the right hand

Tracing it over the sloping curve between neck and arm

You feel strong muscles

Curving into ropes

Shoulders that have carried

Groceries and books and a birthday gift for your friend

Shoulders that have shrugged when

Inside you were reeling

Shoulders that have at times carried

The weight of the world

[Something you were never meant to carry]

Imagine you looked at this body

And beheld it with the eyes of a lover

Imagine who you’d be

Imagine who you’d see.