Beauty is a Gift

All that I understand of my beauty you gave to me.
It was you who saw it first.
It was you who showed it to me every day
until I could see it for myself.

You were sitting at the table,
a plastic tablecloth and cheap placemats
all matching and lined up evenly on the table.
You reached for me as I ran past you.
I was flushed, sweaty from playing kickball in the yard
with all my neighborhood friends.
I laughed and tried to wiggle away--
but you pulled me closer,
backwards over your lap.

"You are so beautiful--
your face, your features, your hair,
you are so beautiful."
I stopped laughing.
How serious you would get sometimes.
You would insist on these moments--
on stopping everything
to tell me something as clearly as you could,
as best you understood.

You were my biggest fan for so many years-
and I was yours.
You were crazy and we knew it,
but you were the only one, besides Jenn,
to listen to my fears without laughing.

I remember your naked body.
Your small breasts and large dark areolas.
Your long torso and narrow hips.
How I would look down at my own and compare.

Sometimes when I look at my naked self
in the mirror today
I still compare my shape to yours.
And I still hear your words,
"You are so beautiful."