My Mother's Legs

I took a tumble today.
Looking down at my swollen, bleeding limb,
I thought to myself,
with dismay,
I have my mother’s legs.
They are very white,
with blue veins.
They are soft,
and large.
And yes,
they are my mother’s legs.

When I was small,
my mother would also say,
“I have my mother’s legs.
They are thick, they are short,
they are stout.
They are very white,
with blue veins.
I hate them.”

But I loved,
my mother’s legs.

My mother’s legs
carried her and I,
through thick and thin,
good times and bad.
And though they sometimes
wobbled, sometimes shook,
they always remained standing.

I suppose,
I should be proud,
to have my mother’s,
and my grandmother’s legs.

Like many other women,
their beautiful legs opened
to give and receive
the love that is the source
of our creation.
They stood to cook,
to clean, to work,
to chase, to discipline
to encourage, to teach,
to love.

While my legs,
are slightly longer
than my mother’s,
they are not the legs
I dreamed of
when I was a teenager,
watching Duran Duran videos.
They are not
the long, thin, lithe, tan,
legs of my dreams.
But somebow,
like my mother’s,
they have carried me
where I need to go.
Yes, I have my mother’s legs.