Jennifer McKeen Rodrigues
JENNIFER’S BODY
This body of mine? Well, it’s complicated.
My memories are of a certain childhood death, of IV lines and bone marrow taps.
Then I see it in the mirror, my strong thighs and prominent ass.
I think of letting this body go outside but the air is haze with pollution.
Some say acrid. Others say dusty with a glowing red sun.
Why would I put my body in that?
I grew up with beauty magazines covering my body in dress.
They told me how to look at all times, posing uncomfortably on boulders,
big breasts pressed out, pout formed in disgust.
That’s hot!
What did they know of my body?
How it begged for hematopoiesis and big sips of alcohol.
How am I supposed to look if I’m dying all the time?
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