Silver: a poem

I was teased the other day

that I did not feel attraction

toward a specific body type

because, for me,

attraction comes from emotion and touch

from humility and kindness

from words and small favors

not something eyes ogling a figure can sense

so

looking at mine now

in the mirror

I see how remote it is from the nudes

on the husband’s phone.

Discouraged, my eyes lower

but my son

who leaves small notes hidden for me

that say “I love you Mom”

tells me

my tummy bagel of stretch marks

has been well earned

through creation of two beings

my pair of saggy empty chest socks

once nourished tiny growing souls

my cold fingers easily become warm

when cupped in his large hands

and those hairs on my head that age me —

they are not grey, Mama

but the color of true value.

You are becoming silver,

resplendent, lustrous.

You are radiant.

Through my son’s eyes I see love again.

Julie “Soaring Eagle” Paschold

written April 2, 2020