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The New Body

When they cut me open
To get to you
I changed.

They must have put my organs back together differently.
I woke up new.

No one could tell me what my body should be anymore,
because it created
That’s what it was meant to be.

They sliced, drained, and stapled me
and here I am.

Carrying you down cement stairs to the bridge.
Pushing you up the hill to the market
for a piece of candy.

Here I am
Standing, sitting, running,
Eating, sitting, crying
Spinning, feeding, jumping.

Do I mourn for the old body?
Smaller. Smoother. Younger.

How can I when I am so strong?
How can I torture this frame that carried you.

My stomach
scarred like a peach pit
My breasts
Stretched like dough
My thighs
Thick kindling a fire as I walk

 This new body.

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