Friday, September 23, 2016

Body Works

long ago in girlhood
i found my body could be a place
of escape

my home.

my body, a place where i could make marks
divine, worship, leave scar, adore. until i learned, loathe
the gathering of fat on side of thigh
saddlebag, a word for horses
the shame i was supposed to accept
infuriated me:

i saw something beautiful
and i was pleased that it was mine.

in eighth grade i read
dr. ruth's book of good sex

in ninth grade i wrote
my own erotica

in tenth grade i cut my arms
and slept with a boy

starved myself, vomited food
gave head.

a very American story.

long ago in womanhood
i found my body could be a place 
of escape

my home.

my body, a place where i could make marks
divine, worship, leave scar, adore, be adored,
create babies, cum

slice through the great Pacific with the sharks
jellyfish dangling from my hair
move into the mouth of my lover
my husband
feel myself as divine underneath his gaze
his hands
his body.

feel myself as divine four times,
babies pushed from my sliced sex
three alive, one dead.

swim naked in the hotel pool, a thousand tongues.
walk naked through my house like a goddamn queen,
for this pleases my daughters,
i can see their proud chins. 

scars of surgery, chicken pox, motorcycle pipes,
the cut of cesarian 
a plethora of living 
blooming across my skin
cellulite rippling the wind on top of waves,

the white ghost on my wrist where once
a young girl lit a cigarette and grabbed her blue jeans
to cut into the thin, white skin 
couldn't cut deep enough.

run, run, run.
my feet pound the pavement, i feel
bounce of my ass, gravity tug up and down
my tits,

banging against their bindings.

i love to be a woman, 
i love this woman's body,
i will allow my husband to grab my stomach from behind
though it rolls soft and loose in his workman's hands,
though it doesn't please the cultural eye
though it doesn't work for Playboy
it works, it works, it works,

it works; my body works just right.

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