Rebecca Watkins
Reclaiming
Another shooting, but I don’t
ask how many died this time.
Instead, I take my dog for a walk past
the empty house where the paint peels
in the shape of fish. It reminds me that it’s
Easter, but I am not inclined to trust resurrections.
The woman who lived there
would clean out her beds this time
of year. When her flowers bloomed,
she’d water and weed her bleeding hearts,
her purple aster, and fragrant peonies.
This is how it is at fifty.
Time moves unnoticed like paint peeling on a wall
an overgrown garden, uneven complexion
and crepe skin on my arms.
but I refuse to be ashamed
of the skin over my bones
or the bones that hold me up.
Somewhere women die young.
Somewhere worse things are happening.
I know this, and I am selfish.
I just want to love
this body the way I once
should have and didn’t.
Rebecca Watkins earned her M.F.A. in Creative Writing and her M.S. Ed from the City University of New York. A Cincinnati native of Appalachian heritage, Rebecca currently resides in the Hudson Valley.