Writing mega/huge/enormous good poems, which are mainly spurred by my writing circles on Substack. I’m in two generative circles, wherein we write and boy do I WRITE, especially in Alix Klingenberg’s Earth and Verse circle, because we usually write three times, in short intervals, like a race almost. I thrive in that environment. In Danielle Coffyn’s Writing as Medicine circle, which I also love, we spend more time reflecting on the poems we read together and then write for about fifteen minutes. I am also in Isabelle Correa’s writing round table, which is not a writing workshop–we read and comment on our own work. I like this, it is good to be with other poets and have my work critiqued, but I am not inspired to write fat gorgeous poems like I am in the generative circles.
My health = bad. I mean. Seriously. F*** all the monkeys and feral cats. It turns out one leg really is shorter than the other (by 1/4 inch), so I got custom ($400) orthotics. I only have one pair of shoes that will accommodate them, my On Cloud. And maybe my old men’s Keens. So I ordered a pair of extra ugly “extra depth” wide ass shoes with Velcro. I am not kidding. They came yesterday and are a no-go. Not at all.
But that’s not all–I hurt my knee every time I go out and walk, even a little bit. Things got a little better when I did the PT, but I kept hurting myself then, and it has just continued. And add to all that–I my second Shingles vaccine Monday. I had gone to the doctor, and my numbers had inproved, so no need for a statin, my sugar was fine, all those numbers are normal. But I have had a terrible reaction to the vaccine. I’ve been sick since then, but I am better enough today to function. I just can’t use my energy. If I do, I bottom out. Hopefully I will be better by this evening.
I am eager to buy shoes that will work. When I am in my shoes with the orthotics, I feel very tall. It’s great. But how can I break them in if I can’t f***king walk without messing up my knee? I am very stressed/worried over this. I haven’t been to the pool in……is it really three weeks? July 10th. That was it. I keep having to deal with this knee. With this ankle. With this body body body.
But on the other hand, there is this marvelous body!
I SING THIS BODY!
I am fat like a meringue,
fat like a flotation device.
The stranded villagers can cling to
the great raft of my body--
I will swim them to safety.
This body,
it is miraculous.
It stores up light and air
blood and gristly bones--
the butter fat the sweet
nougat centers,
oh! my sweet baby,
oh! my roly-poly,
my miracle body
rolling through the air,
falling into the water
that holds me like a flower.
I am lotus petal.
I am lily pad,
give me a push and I’m half
way around the world
already cartwheeling up the mountainsides
already stepping into the snows
at the bottom of the globe
already holding court with
a waddle of penguins.
Now this body is a zoot suit--
it has spats for feet
fedoras for hands,
there’s nothing to do but
dance!
The gods are delirious,
the earth is dizzy,
every living thing is whirling
round inside me,
this is the kind of body I have.
It is a magic top,
a fission reactor,
a time machine.
It is the pinky nail
on some god’s finger dipping into
the first waters of a new planet
growing up from my belly.
I am shower.
I am lake.
I am the separation of the waters
from the land.
I am seedpod.
I am spore,
the nectary nucleus
of the first orchard sprouting up
in my mouth.
The rapidity with which this happens---
what a breathtaking thing!
I always knew this much-maligned form,
this generous flesh,
its fertile plains and excessive afternoon rains
were put on me for a reason.
For I am the new earth,
I am the vine and the fruit,
the hill and the valley,
the bright curve of the first
morning dawning.
And if you ask me,
I will share the atlas
of my body
with you,
and you can riffle through the pages
until you find the place
where you will be born
and you can step into that place
and begin this new life
I have laid out for you.
And before you know it
you’ll be standing on
the banks of a river
contemplating not only the river
but the entire astonishing
bath of moonlight
waiting for you
to plunge into it.
And so, as bipolar as my brain is, so is my body so is the rhythm of my days.
-r.
