By Claire Sexton
It’s an insight the menopause has gifted to me.
The knowledge that my body belongs
wholly to me.
At last I can own my own body.
At last I don’t need to parade for boys or girls.
I can walk around my flat freely.
I can look in the mirror without flinching.
I can accept that my body has ‘curves.’
Like duck eggs, or cat tails, or a funerary cartouche.
Yes. My body belongs to me. That is final.
My flesh has come into the fold.
Where it is warm and sheltered from neglect.
Its creases are unique and compiled by me.
There are scriptures upon its expanse.
It has become my family at last.
Claire Sexton is an autistic woman who writes poetry that deals with neurodiverse and other mental health issues. She lives and works in England and is a medical librarian. She has previously been published in magazines such as Amethyst Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Light: a journal of photography and poetry, and Anti Heroin Chic.
Photo by Aleksander Vlad on Unsplash.
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