Wendy at 45

Wendy's right foot stretches out and lets

go,

tilts on its heel, waggles a toe. Her toes

are on holiday now, children set free

to bask in the gaze of the sculptor

who dances and sings the grand rounds of

her body.

 

Wendy basks in the laughter of children at

play, invisible children who climb and fall

down

on the mounds and mounds, the mountains

of her. They snuggle up into her teddy bear

warmth,

hang on the limbs and the lap of her story,

and leap down again to dance all around

her.

 

They are drawn without knowing

to her great goddess shape, this full

fertile figure our ancestors sculpted

in honor and worship and praise.