Poem from NAAFA

(Dedicated to my mother, who has come a long way.  Her journey means so much. )

Home

"Why don't you cover those up?"
My mother says.

She means my arms- a shawl
She means my scars- concealer
She means my chins- long hair
She means me.

She means her.

But I will not tack aluminum siding on my house.
I will not devalue my body.

Because this is my home.

This is the scar from the chicken warmer,
The scars from a thousand bug-bites,
The scars from knives and screws
     and yes, the scars from you, mom.

This is my fat from living
My fat from genetics
My fat from Dad and Grandpa
   and yes, this is my fat from you, mom.

This is my landscape:

My freshly cut lawn,
My patterns and shapes,
My additions over time.

New rooms, new room.

This is my home.

You laid my foundation, mom.  Yes, I know.
But you have to let me take it the rest of the way.
To let me build walls and paint and decorate.

Because this is my home, and I
like living here.

Because of my past renovations
and in hope of my future.