someone’s husband says, “she looks like a streetwalker.”
and i imagine what it would be like
to be able to walk the streets without looking
over
my
shoulder.
to wear my shirt without a bra
to feel my skin rub against the cotton
to let my nipples greet the chill of the wind
give thanks for the autumn cool
the hair on my body coiffed with the crisp scent
not cautious of attention.
my body.
soft tart
sweet
i might wear a bra
i might show my chest, the crest of my cleavage
and if i so choose
enjoy what my body looks like without waiting
to
be
eaten.