I Tumble For You

We split our bodies from who we are very much like a driver to his car, until we are rudely reconciled to our bodies by pain, hunger, or lust. A man wakes up with an unprovoked and glorious erection. A woman is racked by menstrual cramps. Here we become our bodies. Getting stripped and searched is humiliating therefore an offense to the mind but stripping in a sauna or spa can reduce us to our bodies’ inadequacies. Naked, we are no longer class presidents, scholars or activists.

Sometimes our bodies respond in ways we can’t control. A virgin boy uncontrollably shakes in front of his first centerfold. A fire victim unleashes a fund of strength previously unknown. Sneezing, uterine contraction, breathing; in these we are passengers inside a wonderful machine. If we train our bodies they respond at the speed of thought. A dancer executes a pirouette, the head leaves a spot last and returns to the spot first because the neck remembers. The back remembers.

The back remembers the touch of a major crush gently leading it through a door. Our muscles have memories.

The skin also marks time. A scar is a scar is a scar, only the mind assigns shame or pride. Wrinkles count our vices and sins; sun damage, smoking, unwashed make up. We fight with creams and lasers until we fight with labels like “dignified” and “badge of wisdom.” Our mind and body continuously split and reconcile, compete and connive, wrestle for our identity.

Ultimately our bodies fail our expectations; an athlete misses a mark and a chance for the gold. Sit too long in a certain position and a foot sleeps. We find more hair on our pillow than on our head. We find a lump in our breast. The betrayal angers us but more so it frightens us because we realize that the body we hold precious ( and most of the time abuse) is a mortal stranger.

Kiss. Run. Touch. Sweat,. Take a deep breath. Exhale. The sooner we find comfort inside our skin the better. Plump, huge, willowy, wiry, lanky, fleshy, muscular, stocky, curvy, full. So many names yet we are only given on body to live in and love. The mind believes itself immortal while the body turns to dust. The body may pass —but it holds our mysteries.

Tantrum

I want honey and salt and cheese, I want soft tofu between my toes. I’ll have it one way or the other, every which way. In back allies and foyers. In light or darkness I’ll have it. Named and unnamed I’d want it. I don’t need names nor the consequences between names. I’ll take it fast, slow, all the way or somewhere before it is complete. I’ll take it before the oven pops it out. In thaw, in winter on the streets and on top of graves. No place can be more sacred or less sacred. I don’t care. I want it without time, without counting, it can be sudden or planned. I don’t want protection or caution. I want the stranger before I get off on the last stop or the first stranger I meet before coffee and clarity. I want to have what everyone is having. I want what I’m not having. I want what soldiers have on the eve of wars. I want their desperation, and mess. Last suppers and last meals. From the guards and wardens, from the witnesses and priest. I want to mess up my sheets because I want to fail and fall as long as I’m having some. Anything. It can be as poets would have it, or lovers call it, or foolish spirits believing there’s a clue to falling leaves. Spoken for, paid for, stolen, forced, given freely. It may change me completely or leave me as it found me. By blood and ashes. By the curses and promises. I want that sugar drop and lemonade like a bad finger pointing north. I will not go out and look for it. I want it sent to me, in the biggest Tiffany box. White ribbons in bows tied by the sales lady of the universe. I’m not settling for a half-baked half-ass, I want the whole shebang. I won’t take no for an answer. I won’t take maybe for an answer. I don’t want later. I’m going to bawl until I’m heard and kick the shins of heaven until I get what I want.