Thursday, November 11, 2021

 I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it.

I happen to like my belly.

Always have

Oh, I know it's not what the world likes.

But really?  

Fuck them.

I love its soft roundness like a globe.

Stretch marks and scars the longitudes of my life.

I thought about having it tattooed as a globe.

But that would be redundant.

I am sometimes angry with it.

When I can't squeeze into a pair of jeans that fit just last week.

Or when it gripes and grumbles loudly for Ben and Jerry's.

But truly, I adore i.


If my belly is a globe

my head and feet the poles

my navel the equator of who I am

a world where there are still undiscovered countries

peopled with fierce aborigines

who dance naked in the starlight.

Sunday, November 7, 2021

DI 11/7/21

 There are so many shells along the tide line.  I find the ones turned up containing a tiny resevoir of Gulf water make me sad.  So, I start toeing them over.  Not sure even why as I continue my stroll, just knowing that it eases my anxiety a tiny amount with each one I flip.


It is an odd thing to make one sad - upturned shells.  

So simple and so inescapably everpresent.


And then I remember packing on Thursday night, watching a snippet of Half-Blood Prince.  In particular, that scene where Harry forces Dumbledore to drink the potion to get to the fake horcrux.  There is a look on Michael Gambon's face just before he capitulates and takes that last mouthful.  

Struggle

Denial

Eyes closed

Accepting

Trusting

That look guts me every time.  And yet, I watch knowing it's coming.  Sometimes watching until just after that moment before flipping away.  There is something of my mother in that look.  Something of her struggle into Alzheimer's and the ultimate acceptance that came when she passed beyond reason.   I can't look away.  Even though I know it will make me sad.  

That potion scooped out and poured into Dumbledore's baby bird mouth with a shell.

And so I tip them over.

Pour out their salty potion

Hoping I will have to witness one less mouthful of that sadness being swallowed.  

 I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...