As a thin woman, I didn’t know what it felt like to have a body
My arms swung freely unaware of their surrounding geography
My thighs, seperated by that infamous canyon
were unaccquainted with each other.
But when there is a mountain range in the centre of your country,
You cannot help but notice the change in gravity,
Air pressure building, feeling the incline, that swells as you ascend
Heavy breasts make for themselves a home, in the crook of my elbows,
Accustoming my arms to their presence
Constant companions, offering their ample form
To soften my sharp thoughts.
I am guided to take hold of this body, lifting and moving its fat,
like bread dough in the hands of a baker.
Learning its mysteries in ways that are not possible
When you use a spoon, instead of your hands.
I Spread out in all the ways that feel good to move, getting flour on my nose.
No longer seeking to pound it flat,
Overworking my form and obliterating the sweetness of its authentic taste,
I Embrace the grandness of this being
Rather than grieving the loss of the fragile, goose-fleshed, exposed ribs of my youth.
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