I have a summer body.
My body darkens under the summer sun as I share an ice cream with my daughter.
She has sprinkles around her mouth and she eats intently.
Later, she starts to pull at my halterneck and whine and I feed her from my summer body.
Her hat is askew on her head like a wilting dandelion. Or a flowerpot man.
And when she sleeps, my breast is a cushion for her sweaty head. She is perfection - rosy cheeks and puppy snores.
When she wakes, I tie her to my back, my underarms dark and fluffy on my summer body.
The legs that prickle and brush together under flowing skirts.
There is work still to do, to undo shame.
My body is not a dirty secret that I must sanitise.
My summer body digs its feet in sandy beaches, my hair curls up from the breeze and my eyes turn green.
My summer body carries my daughter on strong shoulders and dips her in the sea with loving hands.
My summer body feeds my babies and I nourish myself with good food in turn.
My summer body sweats and bleeds.
My summer body
Is
Me.
