I want to learn
to love my soft body
as if she cradled clutches of speckled killdeer eggs,
fat raindrops on ripe saskatoon berries,
shaggy hayfields, just before their first haircut,
or dandelion puffs, the bigger the better, blowing wishes.
I want to learn
to love my zigzag stretch marks
as if they honoured a lineage of silvery sage brushes,
scarlet etchings on painted turtles,
serpentine streams along the Assiniboine River,
or orb-weaver spider webs in hawthorn groves.
I want to learn
to love my thick thighs
as if they carried memories of big-boned cottonwoods,
endless sandy crescents hugging Lake Winnipeg,
low blankets of fog muffling meadows,
or bison, strong where westerly winds never stop.
I want to learn
to love my jiggly apron-belly
as if she offered sanctuary for heavy-hanging milkweed,
squirmy tiger salamanders on rainy mornings,
yellow-rumped warblers who wiggle through willows,
or creek clay, wonderfully wobbly under even the slightest touch.