What I learned in London

My body, what a minefield, what a war zone.

But it wasn’t always this way.

One time a wealthy Englishman took me out for drinks at a posh London bar

His father owned the flat I was staying at

He knocked on the bedroom door, said I was too beautiful to be so bored

He was taking me out

It wasn’t a question and I didn’t hesitate

You don’t have to wonder when it’s the exact right thing.

Sitting at the bar he slapped me on the back like an old drinking buddy

He told me I was very strong and he meant it in a physical way, sturdy, stalwart

I laughed at his blunt observation but wasn’t coy

I knew it was true, I’ve never been a pushover

He looked at me with his worn, blue-grey eyes

The 15 year older kind and told me I should forget about grad school

Go to Eastern Europe, scoop up art and sell them in London

Become an art dealer, that’s what he would do if he was 27 again.

In an instant he laid out a lush, extravagant and likely lonely life for me

A fascinating tempting alternate universe.

What does this have to do with my body?

My body took me back to America, through graduate school and into motherhood

I never did become that fancy art dealer

But I am strong like an Oak tree rooted in my Pacific coast home.