The Cook Poem by Sheena Blackhall

She is heavier than a box of smarties, a foxglove, a sieve
She is sleepier than a grasshopper, a clock, a waterfall

Not built to a model's proportions
She is a rotunda of relaxation

Her skin drinks in the cool air of the room
Birds could nest in her armpits
Walking, the balls of her feet make seismic ripples

Her breasts could suckle a herd
Of milk white goats
Skipping down the sides of Mount Olympus
She's one whole woman, comfy in flesh and gender