Ode on My Shoulders

which my aunts called broad
by which they meant indelicate,
masculine, taking up more space
than I had inherited any rights to
and I had never thought of my body
as being built incorrectly
but they held my eyes open to all the ways
I could be misshapen.

I was never good at math
but I learned to subtract
to starve my stomach to flatness
run my thighs into submission
reduce myself to obscurity
which I once thought equal to safety.

But my shoulders remained broad
my back wide with their strength
a testament my body gave to itself
that I was not built
with faulty framework
after all.

Once as a child I wanted to dress up
like my mother for a costume contest
and after going through her powders and polish
I tucked my body into her blazer
the one with the pads
and I won the prize but the reward
is knowing now how much she carried
and remembering the ways she gave herself
softness.

And oh how I want to give myself softness
Let me lift even this praise
from what I have given you to carry
Let me not say ode on but rather ode to,
O shoulders, o holy trinity of bones
O clavicle
O scapula
O humerus
O to all the lifting pushing pulling
angels of bringing things closer and
shoving them away
you are the most flexible
joint in my body but also the most vulnerable
prone to fracture, pain, stiffness,
yet ever moaning
into deep touch and gentle kisses.

You carry more than you should
blame, responsibility, grief
and yes you were built to lift heavy things
but also to put those burdens down.

So tonight, put them down and remember
lightness, remember that shoulders are also
where the wings are connected, remember
your own weightlessness and remember
if any part of a body is strong enough
and soft enough to carry that body
over and through
It is you, it is you, it is you.