Hips Are For Child Bearing
My doctor told me,
your first labor will take merely hours!
You are built (!) to
So you see me, and I am a machine?
Wheels and cogs, well oiled and perfectly balanced
to create in my own image, a new life-
and lord knows, sand doesn't flow through me,
And I round out an even hourglass
filling and filling to count the hours.
I've received many unsolicited
comments on my anatomy—
by people prowling streets,
and cretins in cars.
Grimy growls and catcalls.
But we're well trained,
and they do slide right on off,
but that doctor, it just
Don't fill my uterus with your eyes.
My hips are so much more:
my hips are playful,
They make me very awkward.
My hips are an excitable ill-coordinated
they just want to greet
the whole wide world, by toddling,
stumbling and stomping,
swishing and swaying.
they drive me into
walls and tables,
topple trash cans.
Flurried apologies follow in my wake-
Let me clean that up!
Oh my god-
I'll buy you a new coffee!
I'm a cafe hazard.
my hips are powerful,
When I catch my leg on the
coffee table, every time
my shins come away bruised and cursing.
Sashay hip first, and I am frantic-
What did I break?
Are you hurt?,
Because you know, a healthy pelvis is more
dense than concrete.
and my hips are sacred.
Crown to muscle packed (thunder) thighs,
I have iliac crests, sweet crescent moons,
to cradle the sacrum, the throne—
five vertebrae fused make the base
of my towering spine that holds me
so very tall.
The pelvis is a woman's center
the stony cage of my uterus,
guards ovaries and like, which
I'm told foretell my
gender, my sex, and ultimately
my power to create.
Speak for yourself.
they're a land which I deny you entry.
My abundance of pointy boned, ocean wide, man-slaying hips speak only