Stretch marks and cellulite
white like crackled paint
on my hips and thighs
remnants of children I bore
not yours
you do not care
you do not see them
but
the red tangles and lines
broken capillaries
fine and knotted looking
you gently touch
I didn’t know you realized that they were there
You place a kiss on the end of your finger
and gently trace one
you ask
do they hurt
They don’t
and I know none of my battle scars
matter unless they hurt
And then you will kiss them.
Have you seen Maiden, Mother, Crone?
