More Madonna, Less Jesus

A reply to the woman who wondered if any woman were 100% happy with her body

I wrote this poem years and years ago–I must have been 24 or 25 years old. I posted it to the first internet list for lesbians in the mid-1980s. In a discussion of what we called “body image” someone wondered, and I replied. Yes. Yes, I am 100% happy with my body. Even now, as it ages, what an amazing gift my body has been to me.

A reply to the woman who wondered if any woman were 100% happy with her body

I sing praises of my body as did Innana in ancient times:

In my life, I have seen my hair go from flax to honey; from beauty to beauty.

My eyes are golden gates to love and light, opening on creation, welcoming in my lover’s heart.

My mouth and tongue sing praises of my ecstatic life tide; I kiss my lover’s body, I kiss my friend as she sleeps after sorrow; I taste pomegranates and wheatgrass, still living the mother enters my body.

My throat hums under my lover’s touch. My strong neck holds up my head, and bends beneath my lover’s caress.

These slender arms embrace new friends, and haul in firewood.

Hands, thou wonderous hands, where hast thou been? In paradise.

My perfect precious breasts, they are milk.

Oh belly, laugh with me. My lover feeds me food grown under her own hands. Now she rests her head upon you, and dreams.

Vulva: softest-hair, clit, lips, oh cave. So magic, gives and receives, again again again. again.
May I honor my most womanly places, as they have honored me and my lovers.

My strong thighs carry this dancing body, I praise you now. Now, you anchor my body to my lover’s head, as I cry out and beyond riding.

My wise knees, they teach me flexibility.

My practical feet are as sensitive as my earlobe. I praise thee, both feet, both feet so capable and smooth. So often blessed, I do walk sure in her ways; you ground me.

I sing praises of my body, my spirit basket, woven for me to live in, in this lifetime.