The hips

Sadness does not belong in the heart, it belongs in the hips

where it can tell it’s story, held by the passionate embrace of ancestors and past mes and future mes alike who all have nothing but love and ears to listen.

Where beauty can be assimilated into every one of my cells.

My hips, my directors.

Where the remnants of guilt and shame are transformed and drip down through my toes and into the past, becoming history, enlightened by the understanding that comes with love

every time.

My hips must move to remember, my cervix must open and tighten and flex and breath to speak.

My history is alive in every ounce of flesh that I carry, build and pass.


Tears shared with every part of me and every part of me cares.

Joy and pain playing and laughing.

There is dance in me.

Discovering what it’s like to be here and there.

I recognize, as each new story takes its seat in my wide, warm, healthy, inviting hips that I am big enough to hold them all and they will move.