Oct/Nov 2020 Poetry Special Feature

The Dance of Our Skin

by Ashley Reynolds

The Dance of Our Skin

At night I rub sweet jojoba
over the curves of my growing womb.
Circles gliding slowly,
my hands join to your tiny body within.

A glowing light highlights my changing form,
and I smile at the beauty
that we are one.
I press my palm to brush your cheeks,
smooth oil over my skin.
Every night we dance.

My mind free from fear
I say a prayer with each rotation,
and whisper hope
through the tips of my fingers.

Through these movements you feel,
gather trust,
and prepare for your moment to arrive.

At night I rub sweet lavender
across the purple scar
that marks your entrance to the world.
I check to see that it is really there,
still in disbelief at the path you chose.

I do not resent my scarred and altered body,
or wish to change your story,
for I found reverence in my resistance,
my surrender,
to that which I could not control.

The oil penetrates my skin,
folding the memory back into my body,
so to never forget
the moment of your birth,
the tears that were shed as you entered this world.

As if a dream, I hear your first cries.
With every stroke I whisper gratitude into the air.
You are safe. You are loved.
And my body is that much more beautiful
for what it has endured.


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