About Fernando Botero’s sculpture, “Standing Woman.”

Woman about town, fashionably plump, she didn’t
work out at a gym nor play games at a power breakfast.
She was your matronly grandmother, a domestic specialist.
In her prime, God-fearing–faith, husband, children first.

Rotund, no-nonsense face, cropped hair, and
stocky legs firmly grounded in home life.
She didn’t have street smarts, but her kids couldn’t
fool her. She knew how to manage her life.
If she had baggage, no one realized it.

She always left the house with feathered hat
tipped to one side, gloves, and sensible shoes,
boundless hips rocking, generous arms swinging.

Wholesomely buxom, she bulged with pride
for family and community. Night out at
the VFW Post, she wore a ruffled dress,
accentuating her huggable build, and had a clutch purse.

She raised money for schools and orphans,
had four kids in six years, balanced a chubby baby
while vacuuming, cooked complete meals,
did piles of laundry, and ironed even the tiniest corners.

She didn’t dream of finding herself.
Sitting beside her hearth with
the knitting circle was her me-time.

When she died, her reputation was bronzed
in neighbors’ minds for living a solid life.
That recognition would have satisfied her.