I’ll sing the body electric now,
the body round to slender, rough to tender,
dark to pale, the body leaning into life
and carrying it through all laughter, toil and heartache,
from the shining days of youth
to the dreamtime of the ancients.
I’ll sing the body steeped in anger
and fear, those poisons
that strip freedom and delight,
legacies of pasts and judgments oh, so human,
universal as mother’s milk, white-hot
like a house—no,
a neighborhood—on fire.
I’ll sing the part of us all that longs for home,
home that’s long gone,
what’s left a chromatic mix of shapes
and shadows, passageways to other worlds
of story and song, of rights and wrongs,
a hero’s imaginary journey back, back,
back to the breast.
I’ll sing the body rich with sensation
and ever ready for meaning, electric, yes,
the charge coiled deep
that brought us here. I’ll learn to ask
what it wants and needs now,
learn to stop, wait, breathe,
and listen as it sings what I don’t yet know.
Poem #25 of 30 for National Poetry Writing Month April 2016