the tummies, the one-piece bathing suits,
the bosoms that slope, the wide nice bottoms,
thigh flesh shirred as gentle wind shirrs a pond.
So many sensible haircuts and ponytails!
These bodies show they have grown babies, then
nourished them, woken to their cries, fretted
at their fevers. Biceps have lifted and toted
the babies now printed on their mothers.
"If you lined up a hundred bodies,
I could tell you which ones have borne children,"
the midwife says. In the secret place or
in sunlight at the beach, our bodies say
this is who we are, no, This is what
we have done and continue to do.
We labor in love. We do it. We mother.
You can peruse our tributes to Mothers and Fragrances which either remind us of them, or which we will pass on to our children, on these links on Perfume Shrine:
Mothers and Kids and the Scents that Bind us Together
The Indefineable Allure of a Signature Scent
Poem brought to my attention by Bergamot/POL
Pic sent to me by the good people at Hermes.