thick and white, leather, creased and worn
that was part of the appeal of it -
a proper man's belt, well used, wrapped around
and around like a cinch
on the horse
he used to ride -
such happiness, when he
taught her to fly
through grassy hillsides
on summer afternoons
after the fog
had rolled on by.
when he gave her the belt
it was such a delight
this was - vintage!
the kind of thing
girls do:
turn their father's old
60s clothes
into fashionable (sexy)
styles.
for once she was - normal?
And it was too big!
What a surprise
for someone always too big
to suddenly have a waist.
she wrapped it round her
a white band,
hardly for chasity:
its well-worn, masculine firmness
excentuated feminity
And now,
with loose worn blue jeans and a blue shirt
white scarf and blue earings
the white belt was -
tough, sexy, secure
A co-worker
an old professor
stopped her in the hallway:
my! have you lost a ton of weight!
Her shy akward smile.
the white belt (with new holes) snug against
newly discovered hip bones -
yes, yes i have.
she gave a shaky laugh
not because of her body size
and wished later she had said
something intelligent, such as -
The more weight i loose
the more i discover what
i thought i always knew
it is not
the exterior that matters
really, it is what's inside that counts.
Not to share the interior
- colleagues have no need
to know of such terrors -
just to point out
priorities
and a touch of wisdom
(real, and, painfully gained.)
still
the white belt
reminded her
of the man her father
used to be -
before.
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