Saturday morning to ourselves.
No husbands, no kids.
The lake house, a friend’s but ours
for a few hours. We shimmy
out of jeans into bathing suits,
one piece, thanks very much.
On the pier, I drop my cover-up,
dangle feet in cool water. You say
no one’s seen me in a suit since the
kids were born.
No judgment, I answer,
all the while thinking
why don’t we ever take it easy
on ourselves, we women? Be more like
men. Never a thought to
belly bursting its waistband,
to skin once smooth and firm, now
sagging. Eyes never darting
downward in shame for appearing
less than perfect.
The sun behind does its magic,
transforms us to long shadows
dancing, shimmering,
transports us, two young girls
laughing, carefree
on a do-nothing summer’s day.
Peggy Hammond’s recent poems appear or are forthcoming in Pangyrus, The Comstock Review, For Women Who Roar, Fragmented Voices, The Sandy River Review, ONE ART, and elsewhere. A Best of the Net nominee, her chapbook The Fifth House Tilts is due out fall 2022 (Kelsay Books). Her full-length play A Little Bit of Destiny was produced by OdysseyStage Theatre in Durham, NC.
