My friend, I've been cooking this one up in silence for awhile.
Heritage
You get the body you need, he says.
But, I do not need this lump,
This fold, spot, bump, or this old
Sagging breast that used to feed.
This sliver of silver parting my forehead.
For what purpose these noises creaking
From my knees and shoulders? No,
I do not need this body.
It was those women who needed this.
The big-boned mother of my father
And his stout grandmother. Large arms
Crossed over large bosoms in dark dresses.
They watch me from beneath
Thick glass protecting treasured DNA. Lovely
Forebears who birthed bigger-boned babies meet
For farming. Their rugged lived bone-deep
Daily exertions. And then they baked a lot of pies, Dad said.
Starving people would love to have that.