Belts
femininity cinching the hips
woven wide wrapping our waists round and round
thick-weave wool
red, green and black, braided
Grandma said if you can breathe, it’s not tight enough
for want of child birthing curves
to flare and baby feeding breasts to billow
it strengthens our spines, building backs against weak eyes
We wear them to dance, to give cornmeal, to learn our songs, name newborns, to deliver food to
the dead. Nine babies later, his grandmother still spun the same belt over her lap. I’ve only
birthed three, what excuse does my abdomen flex against her or my woven core?
for the babies they are simple, twisted red and black yarn
twined by little fingers for fresh ribcages
four days old, my daughter’s
center was tied and balanced
we are born belted to our mothers cinched
by weavers
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