My Brothers, by Juanita Rey
MY BROTHERS
I walk like I’ve always walked.
But they tease me with
“Un meneo de las caderas.”
A jiggle of the hips.
I’m sure they say worse
behind my back.
My mother is corralling them
for church.
They protest but there’s no way
they won’t be going.
I suck in my stomach
for the benefit of the mirror.
Their complaints
versus my worries about my shape.
I really do feel
the oldest by a mile.
But we all march single-file to service
down the rutted path
past chickens and goats
in the best clothes we possess.
I take up the rear.
Do I jiggle?
If it’s natural, I accept it.
But my complicity
is another matter.
Grease Pencil on Paper, 4”X 6” by Mia Gjerde