I used to overflow

Sitting on a sofa
Chesterfield
Couch, whatever.

Thighs spilled over edges
Although not a lot
And my gut filled my lap
More than the kids ever did
Shortness of breath from walking
Down the street was more common
Than breathlessness for any other reason

Today I sat in the same place
On different furniture
In the corner and
I barely filled half of the cushion

Nothing to spill over
And there was room on my lap
for my bigger baby boy
And the mutt
Although not a lot

Having no air comes from
Beauty rather than fear of death
From lack of breath

Somehow, even with my hands
Resting on the new points
and jutting edges
And the image that the mirror shows
I still don’t feel like me

©MelanieMcCurdie2017

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