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Sunday, Nov 22, 2009
Short, tall, skinny, fat, young, old, buxom and flat: A second round of Salon readers share their own body-inspired odes.
Aug 23, 2005 |
Goodbye shame
Are you ready for this?
Hairs march up my belly
and circle my tits.
There's more on my chin.
And here's where I'm brave:
Each and every morning
I'm fucking forced to shave.
My husband doesn't know...
or pretends not to see.
My thighs must distract him,
since they're as fat as can be.
But, I'm happy as hell,
as sexy as sin. And
Salon still loves me,
despite the shape I'm in.
-- M.J., Chicago
They say that motherhood
Is unsexy by nature,
But I have never felt
So sure, so strong, so dangerous
As I do now, ten years
After my son remodeled my body
Giving me stretch marks, cellulite
And soft, plushy curves
Where I never wanted them.
Oh yes, they once said I was a beauty,
Stick-thin, tanned skin stretched
Over chiseled bones,
Perfection without orgasms
Because I cared more
About what men saw
When they fucked me
Than about how I felt while they did.
Thirty-five stubborn pounds later,
I finally come
To know that how I feel
Is what mattered
All along.
-- Ann Regentin, Ypsilanti, Mich.
My hair is white
My dick is bent
And sad to say quite mellow
My nails are stained
And so my teeth
I'm not a pretty fellow
I wash and wash
And yet there is
this fundamental odor
My poop runs out
like black bean soup
Except when hard as mortar
My mind is sharp
My fingers cold
My friends all gone or going
The river sphinx
Around the bend
My arms still strong for rowing
-- Austin Porter, Falls Church, Va.
Crispy french fries or skinny thighs
My priority
Is revealed by my pants size
- - - - - - - - - - - -
I have gained ten pounds since we met
but my husband has not noticed.
I will try to remember
not to decry
his lack of perception
when I get a kitty cat sweater
for my birthday.
-- Jillian St. Charles, New York, N.Y.
Beauty Mark
It was my red nose, that mole,
my tragic disfigurement, like
an extra finger or a prehensile tail,
glowing like a Christmas bulb
on my little white belly, too
high for my swim trunks to
hide, a shame I could not contain
or cover with smart answers or
bons mots, not in summer. It was
angry, sullen, the sort of flaw
that made you unmarriageable and
sent young children scurrying,
slapping wet footprints on hot
concrete, to mothers in lawn chair
waiting to catch them up and
comfort them with beach towels.
Today it is tiny, buried in hair,
and only the memory of its
former enormity remains,
proof that even our most hopeless
problems diminish with time,
and small things grow
large; I speak of myself, or,
at least, my white belly.
-- Ken Honeywell, Indianapolis, Ind.
Balding
With every spring,
as the west wind snaps flags,
my hair is blown less;
fewer strands remain
to catch the breeze.
Stranger than this is
that any strands are left
after the shearing of genes and seasons,
that the locks I have
still proclaim themselves among
banners in the wind
above the ground.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
6 a.m., 35 Years Old/
Each morning narrows in its scope.
Hair and gums recede, like hope.
--J.D. Smith, Washington, D.C.
My boyfriend left me.
I sometimes think: if I lost
Weight, would he come back?
-- Jeffrey Wong
MY ASS SAYS "HELLO"
from where it all of a sudden hogs the mirror.
My ass wants to take me shopping for larger sizes; it begs
me to give up jogging, cries "Enough with the butt-tucks
and iceberg lettuce!" Almost forty, and my ass
has finally found its voice. "Who else do you know smiles
so much?" it asks, flashing its dimples.
My ass is smart and philosophical. It likes Russian novels
and Kurosawa films (Sometimes it sits through them twice).
It has lots of friends: those martyrs, the breast sisters,
the grinning pads of flesh that ride my knees.
After services at the First Church of St. Isaac
Newton, they all meet for brunch on Sundays.
They order eggs Benedict and gossip about my tiny wrists.
I'd like my ass better if it gave me some privacy.
I can't even make love to my husband
without it butting in, without its bawdy asides and dirty jokes.
Next thing you know, it's got the rest of them cracking
up, and that quiver of silent laughter (My ass
is such a ham) has me shaking from head to toe,
till even the little hammocks of my upper arms are swaying,
and the mood is ruined, so my ass, full of itself, heads
downstairs for a chicken sandwich, heavy on the mayo.
-- Tania Rochelle, Atlanta, Ga.
My boobies are big
I like to soap them in the shower
and when I jump up and down
on a trampoline
they hit me in the face
and I feel free
oh, hell, I'm lying
My boobies are small
but my butt is big
thank you God
for your sense of humor.
-- Kathy Hepinstall, Venice Calif.
I pray that I may someday see
A day when I don't lash at Me.
I've only ever dwelled on flaws
Even when Hugh Hefner called.
No woman dreams of growing old
When options and desires turn cold.
You're ushered from the sexpot stage,
Replaced by women half your age.
I'm not a kid, that much is true.
I'll admit what I don't like to you:
Ripples, wrinkles, dread weight gain
And veins and veins and veins and veins.
The hardest thing for me to share,
Is that, deep down, I really care.
I will confess I'm shocked and pissed,
A feminist who thinks like THIS?
There's got to be a better way
Than options that I see today:
Get lifted by credentialed butchers,
Or find my own lil' Ashton Kutcher.
I long to change, I do submit,
So to this goal I now commit:
To exalt my form, and ban self-hate
As I stare down the barrel of 38.
With self-regard so raw and recent,
I'll start by saying one thing decent:
Pardon the lame Seinfeld vernacular,
But yes, they're real, and they're spectacular.
-- Lily Burana, New York, N.Y.
