I don’t feel at home in this body

joints like those of an eighty year old

grandmother who spent her days

knees to the grindstone

doing her family laundry by hand

I don’t feel at home in this body

eyes like those of weary and

retired coal miners

who spent too many days underground

with only headlamps to light their path

I don't feel at home in this body

skin like leather, hair like feather

scars like a road map

telling stories of the places I’ve been

and the things I’ve done

I don’t feel at home in this body

hips too wide lips too dry

this body that houses my soul

this body that anchors me to the world

this body that my partner sees

and calls beautiful with his guitar chords