secrets

     As I walked last evening, I wore the neon yellow reflective belt for safety, slung low across my soft belly, just below the sharp curve of my waist. The hour glass curve, the coveted shape that would become so intense and clear if only I wore the right clothing or lost a little weight. I thought about hiking it up a little, just above the sagging naval and just below the ribs. The part that seems impossibly small in contrast to the wide square hips that spread smoothly across tiny bistro chairs and airline seats and flow just over the edge. It's all in betweens now a days. In between fat and curvy. In between being old enough to smile knowing smiles and still having plenty to learn. Heavy strong legs. A blessing and a curse. Lumbering slow legs, powerful and strong enough to move mountains, well, maybe not mountains but heavy furniture surely. In between letting gray roots and curls do their own wild things and the desire to tame and smooth and press it all down and keep it a secret. With these breasts, these hips, these thighs, this waist, nothing is a secret. I walk on busy well lit roads and wear that blazing yellow belt to be safe and to be seen because nothing, absolutely nothing,  is a secret.