Fur

We protest we are unaffected by standards of beauty.
We raise our children to emphasize their inside, and leave their outside unremarked.
But even we, as much as we rail and buck and resist
secretly eye the dark hair on our girl child's limbs.
Secretly note
secretly worry
secretly loathe
myself for even noticing.

Until one day in the sun's afternoon rays
I watching that body whirling
strong child climbing
jumping
galloping through the field
she looks down at her arms
her legs
stretches them out to declare,
"...and LOOK AT MY FUR."

And in that second,
I
crystallized pride in sudden practical
purposeful
beauty
of all that
fur.