She had scoliosis which left her with one hip at 2:15
and one hip at 2:35,
one a summit, one a foothill.
No one talked about her disfigurement:
It was like someone having a wart on her chin or bowed legs.
It was just there, and everyone accepted it.
People would tell her, “You have such a pretty face,”
which is what you tell a woman who is overweight
or otherwise outside one’s norms.

She was engaged once
when her scoliosis was mild,
when one hip was a slight downhill
stroll from the other.
He broke the engagement and her heart
to join the priesthood,
the only respectable reason a Catholic man
would leave a woman with such a pretty face.
She was thankful he was leaving her for God,
not another woman.

Years later, still single, she saw him delivering milk,
not the word of God;
God was sitting in the passenger seat
with her legs crossed.

Image credit: Ivan Lapyrin

I have dabbled in poetry for as long as I can remember.  The subjects for my poems tend to be mundane, yet they take my mind somewhere else.  It’s the “somewhere else” that fascinates me and keeps me writing.