Big Legs

by Jamie Iredell

Breached out the birth canal massive legs first, legs like gas planets, in leg-shape. Titanic legs, unsinkable, sinking through the air of the hospital into the briny wash. Her body: normal as a body, a baby's body: skin and eyes. A shriek like the song of humpbacks. She grew, her legs expansive, exponential. Her legs were the trunks of redwoods. Her legs became Studebakers. She drove forward into redwoods. Everyone stared. What's wrong with that woman? Her legs became their own ecosystem: rains of bleach-blonde peach fuzz, clouds of cotton socks and landslides of darkened sweatpants. Custom shoes size eighteen women's. Her crutch is her body, so normal, skin and eyes.