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

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.

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