My Stomach
This is my stomach
Round, like the moon, like the sun
Like a pot belly roast with meat and potatoes and gravy to last
As it dribbles down sliced carrots.
This is my stomach
Rippled like a sand dune
Warm like the earth to touch against your cheek
If you want to make love with me
You can’t just touch the top and the bottom
Without filling out the middle
My body is whole
I do not have a hole to slink around
As if to avoid the toxic shame
Our world has thrown towards my belly
I do not have a problem
With your lack of knowledge about my belly
I want you to explore it
As I will explore your hands and feet and thighs
The places where men do not think
When they think of being touched
When we think of being torched
When we think of being tucked into bed
those places there too
hot bread cozy
napkin folded over
sweet butter safe in neat corners.
Those places too.
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