Big Legs

 

 

Breached out the birth canal massive legs first, her body normal as a body, a baby's body: skin and teeth. A shriek like the song of humpbacks. She grew, her legs expansive, exponential. Her legs were the trunks of redwoods. Her legs became Studebakers. She drove forward into redwoods. Everyone stared. What's wrong with that woman? She is special. Her legs became their own ecosystem: rains of bleach-blonde peach fuzz, clouds of cotton socks and landslides of darkened sweatpants. Custom shoes for size 18 women's. Her crutch is her body, so normal, skin and teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jamie Iredell wrote When I Moved to Nevada (The Greying Ghost Press) and Atlanta (Paper Hero Press).