and round like the letter C
and ten thousand lunges
have made it rounder
but not smaller
and that's just fine.
It's a space heater
for my side of the bed
it's my ambassador
to those who walk behind me
it's a border collie
that herds skinny women
away from the best deals
at clothing sales.
My butt is big
and that's just fine
and those who might scorn it
are invited to kiss it.
They get bruised and cut
every time I play soccer.
I'm proud of them
and wear my dresses short.
My mother worries
I will never marry
with knees like that.
But I know
there's someone out there
who will say to me:
I love you
and I love your knees.
I want the four of us
to grow old together.
aren't dainty
or proportional to my hips
some say they are like a man's.
I say, leave men out of it.
They are mine.
I made them
in a swimming pool
then I went to yoga
and made my arms.
were once two hairy sticks
that weren't very good at jump rope
but by the time I reached the age of algebra
they had come into their own
and now in spin class
they are revered
envied for their strength
honored for their beauty
hairless for the most part
except that place the razor misses
just behind the ankles.
return to puberty
when I'm in dance class.
Music affects them like hormones
making them crazy
and spontaneous
and optimistic
and prone to drama
and I don't understand them
and sometimes they
don't understand themselves.
When the music stops
they're still charged
don't touch me
sparks will fly.
thunder thighs.
And that's a compliment
because they are strong
and toned
and muscular and though they are unwelcome
in the petite section
they are cheered on in marathons.
Fifty years from now
I'll bounce a grandchild on my thunder thighs
and then I'll go out for a run.