The body in the mirror

is not

my body; it is somebody’s body,

but not mine. It is the body of a gaze

that does not belong to me,

the body of an idea

that has nothing to do

with me.

 

My body is effervescent

light, filaments of freedom

coursing through my veins

spilling over

in gales of laughter

electrifying my blood

with its unruly wild,

spirit tasting earth.

 

My body cannot be seen

much less contained

by the parameters

of a measuring stick. I am blood,

bone, and marrow

peeking out the flesh

in goosebumps

and wails, gestures

and the certain

flushness

of being filled in,

fleshed out. I am no stranger

to the way space

likes to take place.

I am not

a flat, servile

model

of angles and 

calculated dimension;

I am a rogue, responsive,

relentless

evolving effect

of dynamism

that is all cause,

all boss,

and all life force.

I affect

everything I come into

contact with. Everything

is changed

in the stroke of a meeting

with my reflection,

which shows up

in ripples

sizzles

currents

bleeds

and screams,

desirous

and daring,

delicious

and divine. Again, I say,

you cannot lay eyes

on me

through mechanics

or machines:

 

I am a quantum leap

of faith

 

in all things blasphemously

creative—

your religion

cannot own the rights

to what I am,

drone out my flesh,

or extinguish the Goddess-given

gifts of my brilliant body

 

                   with its naive disdain

    for pleasure and passion,

all those naughty things

that teach me

how to stand upright

and breathe in

what’s inviolably right.

 

I am a creature

uncontained,

a mesmerizing shape

on land

underwater

across the sky

and out beyond

 

I am a wonder song

of wavelengths

too vast

to be named,

too bright

to be tamed:

 

that is what I am,

this precious pearl of a body,

as far as words

can tell;

 

a living light

the right to exist

as boldly

and beautifully

as glory reflects,

all across the mirrors

of my own marvelous,

illuminated making.