It’s not because of make-up,
a slim figure, gorgeous hair,
or silky skin.
It’s not love letters or cliche
It’s in the moments I choose
to be present in my body:
epsom salt baths,
the walks where I discover
It’s in the coffee mug of bone broth
and the coconut oil slathered sticky
on my hands.
It’s peeling sweet potatoes and
smelling steam from ground beef
It’s scribbling in my notebook,
listening to the Lumineers,
taking time to smell the hyacinths
orchids, and tulips.
My senses compel me to sit with my body,
to converse, to laugh and cry with
this entity who seems other-than-me.
This body tells me that her favorite job is to
whisper, “You are beautiful” to me all day
She waits daily for me to respond,
“I believe you.”