living art

Looking down at the reflection of the dawn light on

my skin, my leg exudes where my shirt ends

The curves, the seamless play of light and shadows

We are numb to the body, tone deaf, bored senseless

It is ever present, the light touch of clothing on skin

The where the weight in which part connects to the ground

My body exudes sensation and I barely begin

My mothers legs fold underneath me now, my ankles cracking

as I walk to the kitchen in the morning, echoing the sound

of her walking our apartment hallway

My mother, my grandmother with me in this body

in all the ways I want them here and all the ways I don’t

My body the miracle, the mystery, the outline that defines me

although I can feel beyond the touch on my skin

My body the grand illusion, who are we to love ourselves?

these aging flesh vessels that we nitpick, criticize, purchase

clothes to compress or accentuate, products to refine and conceal

Here we are in these glorious bodies, taboo to celebrate,

vain to love, traded for love or money, kept apart for fear

of closeness. The body is enemy or ammunition to the ego

It’s yours, but not you, so drive it like a lease, hard and carefree

Wear it like a rented dress you can’t afford, a borrowed suit

always a size too small that you make the most of for the night

you have it. Be kind to your body. It’s its own sweet beast.