i had a chance
i had a chance to go skydiving
over the amazon — when i landed
a new river would have
issued forth from my feet,
a river rivaling the amazon in
its wildness and virility.
i would have bathed with crocodiles
and serpents and piranhas
and they would have worshiped me
and called me their queen —
all my terror would be erased
of those fearsome things.
then the offer came
to be taken to the top of mount olympus
where i would meet zeus and odin, osiris,
and all the other
forgotten gods —
they would worship my flesh
and caress my body
into writhing ecstasy —
then they would name
thunderstorms after me —
mountains would emerge
from my cries of pleasure —
they would mold lightning bolts into my form
and i would be hurled by thunder gods
to pierce the earth’s flesh
making my spine
quiver with power.
i had the chance to be refined into
the most precious of stones —
my teeth, turned into diamonds,
my toenails into rubies,
my heart to platinum
so it would never break;
my mind into a pearl
soaking up the wisdom of ages,
of time and the sea and sand,
earth and heaven.
golden ropes of silk would be
woven into my hair,
my skin would feel like downy feathers
of baby swans, my breath would smell
of lilacs; from between my legs
a mouth-watering feast of cane and figs and
cinnamon and cloves.
my laughter would be a siren’s song.
but i turned these offers away —
i am already the queen
in someone’s largest spaces;
while with him,
i feel no fear.
we are transported by currents inside us,
more fierce and true than any river.
i am already a goddess
and our love makes the earth beneath me quiver
with each step.
all of this happens
within the ordinary comings and goings
of each passing day;
i am transported to the heavens —
i do not need olympian gates opened to me.
when his eyes gaze upon me
i see myself through them,
and my being becomes all that is precious,
all that is desperately desired.
his gaze turns me
into a wonder of the world.
i am all of this,
i am all of this because i am loved.
i am all of this because i love.
it may seem mundane,
but it isn’t —
it is so rare, this kind of love,
it can only be embodied
in poetry, song and color,
in achingly honest movements of body.
it is as ephemeral in each moment
as a wisp of gardenia in an errant breeze;
rare as an unnamed bird in
unspoiled paradise —
and it’s all ours, together, as we
languish in our wondrous chance of trees.
This is not a Song, but I am Singing: Poetry COMING SOON