Sunday, July 27, 2014

my body is an anachronism

trapped in the wrong age, unable to see its value
I’ve been to lands older than the place of my birth and have feltl the pull of time…..
welcoming me back, lulling me home….

I am the Venus of Willendorf
fertility goddess
the ideal of motherhood
bringing forth life to a barren landscape
wanton and wanted

I am the muse of Rubens
Botero’s dream
the void on Lucian Freud’s couch
a living canvas
untamable and wild

I am the mirror of ancestors past
the strong women smiling in a black and white photograph from a pile of memories in my Grandmother’s shoebox
women with my same breasts, same hips, same build
tillers of the land, shelters of my genetic code
my bones, my skin hold the history of ages past
I must find a historian in this world of the now
who will love each inch of me like they love each tome on a dusty shelf in a library
each word read firing like neurons; the lightest touch of a lover’s caress

I will not be ashamed of this body 
for I love it as I love history
and literature
and poetry
I see the magic in my limbs, the grace in its movement

the strength in my narrative