It Is Not That Makes Me A Woman
By Beth Cortez-Neavel

It is not the curve
of my breast as it
hangs low
nipples pointing down
with gravity
beneath my blouse
that makes me a woman.

It is not
the youth of my hips
concealing the
Soft
inner white
dimples of my thighs
swaying under my blue jeans
worn from second-hand use.

It is not my Lips
as they smile
and inhale
and purse
and blow smoke rings from
the hose
and kiss yours.

It is my eyes.
And what I let you see inside of them.
It is how my hands move
over your chest,
and how my wrist looks small
in your rough hands.
And how
It Is
that i love you.