At Seventy

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(This poem was published this June in the anthology called Hers by Beatlick Press… and in July I was a finalist in the UK Fortnight Poetry Contest)

I like my body
I mean, it’s not the body of a young girl or even a middle-aged
woman, but so what?
I’m old. My skin is old and it hangs, dramatically sagging
It folds into herringbone pleats
It falls into patterns that it never used to
It sighs

My chin, my neck, my stomach, my back the most
My chin is crumbling but I love it
My neck is corded but I love it
My stomach is dimple deluxe and I love it
My back is shifting and I adore it too

There is no going back with 70-year-old skin
My inner thighs – I think they call them crepey
Meaning wrinkled, elephant grandma skin, but I prefer not those words

Besides, elephant skin is grand
It is fascinating as a fingerprint
It is matron skin
And crepey?
That’s just my skin deciding to be artistic, throwing a pucker party

I will keep my skin
I will keep my age
I will keep my body
I will celebrate it
Because my body is mine and therefore it is beautiful

 

 

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