Ode to my Ass

There is no denying
my ass is ample,
large, round
A full moon
of soft squishy, squeeeezable flesh.
It stretches a mile…
maybe more.

Draws attention,
announcing its presence
demanding that you stand up
and take notice!

It has it’s own fan club, you know,
with t-shirts, and bumper stickers.
Being an ass of size
it has a zip code
and just might qualify as the 51st state,
flag emblazoned with a large round moon!
“I pledge allegiance to that ample ass
and the united states of euphoria”
Sir Mix-a-Lot said it best
because “this baby’s got back”

but I digress…

You see, I never hated my ass
I never ever did leg lifts, squats, lunges
until I couldn’t walk,
and certainly never considered
liposuctioning this ass away,
surgically sucking this big booty into oblivion.
I was never taunted at school
with words like 'bubble butt', 'fat ass',
or clever jabs like
“Your ass is so big, when you walk past the television
We miss three episodes of Batman!"

You know, I never, never, ever heard lewd, lustful comments like
“Hey baby, bring that big booty over here!”

There were times I wished I was black
because decent white girls didn’t have asses
that drew so much attention.
When at a party, I sought out even bigger asses to cover mine.

I am a damned Yankee and this ass is from the deep South
so I waged a civil war
with the collateral damage of self loathing.

…They say time heals all wounds.
Maybe so, but some wounds take more time than others.

Today, however, I understand
that this ample ass fills out a pair of tight jeans nicely.
When sitting on hard metal bleachers
at my daughter’s swim meets,
I never have to bring a cushion.
My skirt sah-wings above my legs
suspended by the luxurious ballast
of my ample ass.
It keeps me grounded,
my center of gravity low
so I won’t tip over
or lose my balance
when I hear things like
“Hey baby, bring that big booty over here!” because today, I know I make the decision whether to walk your way or not.

If I don’t, know I am not afraid to let the door hit my big ass on the way out.
Me and my ample, we’ll simply smile and go on about our day

By the way, don’t even think about making cruel comments,
Because, you may think you’ve seen my ass, but
you've not even begun to see me show my ass.
My ass is an asset, a cushion for the pushin'
and you don't get to sample this ample without
showing me some respect.

You see, my ample, round, bodacious, booty-lovely ass and I have become the best of friends
and Baby….together
we’ve got our back!

~ Mk Michaels

Eclipse

In the arctic blast of winter,
grief and dark despair
cloaked me like a shroud
and yet I was never warmed
by the heavy mantle
unwillingly shouldered.

My world had gone gray

cloudy, dark, bleak and ice cuttingly cold
stark, frightening and so very strange
a boulder landed in my chest,
eclipsing my heart with its weight.

Physical pain would have been a relief.

Wishing someone would crush my jaw beneath her fist
so I could crack and bleed and my outsides could match
my insides.

My eyes hollow, weary and still

the horizon, her face, seeking a different
answer.

Crawling toward reason,

my knees bruised and bleeding,
my hands cut from the rocks in the road
my hair hanging lank and long across my
red rimmed eyes.

The darkest hour is before dawn

and in that eclipse of all I held dear,
my world was inky black.

With no backbone or sense of self to support me
I crumbled to the ground
and wanted to die.
Slipping away into nothing for the relief of it
Escape from the weight on my chest and pain too severe
to allow me to draw breathe

Plodding toward a destination unknown,

Finding no pleasure in the journey
and no vision of the destination.
My children holding the only faith I had
in the palms of their tiny and small hands.

Life happening all around me but

none within me.
Dead but not dead enough
Each breath requiring all the will I had .

Seeking sunshine in the stark ice of winter

Constant cold under layers of cover

The darkest hour is before dawn.

I howl at the eclipsed moon

my pain and rage
festering up and out of my mouth
spilling down my breasts
foaming, boiling, scalding hot
the length of my body and self.

“I will not be taken down!”
and the moon cracks open,
a single moonbeam
filtering gentle light on the
seed lain in the ruins of me.

My tears afford water enough to
sprout the tender grain.
Gently unfolding bit by delicate bit.

Springing forth from the desolation

in the darkest hour before dawn
stretching skyward toward the heavens
is the part of me that would not die.

The part of me who believes in

the healing power of a full moon,
the metamorphosis of life,
the tonic of laughter.

The part of me who sought you

without realizing I still believed.

In that darkest hour before dawn,
In an act of miraculous faith,
I found myself open, wanting, waiting
for you.

And the floodgates opened once again

With nothing held back save the demons
of my past, I faced you fully,
smiling into your warm and laughing eyes,
the color of richest chocolate.
I inhaled you deeply into me,
breathing you in and mingling your life into mine.
 
The eclipse passed and the sun shone through
Brightly, burning away the torn remnants of my
shroud of grief.
Bathing me with warmth and light and you.
 
Smiling quietly, gently and knowingly – for this was always to be
The eclipse, the nuclear winter and now,
having eclipsed all other lovers
You.

~ Mk Michaels

Water

The sound of water reminds me of you
The rushing coolness perks my mind
My lips are parched and I want to drink deeply

The roll of thunder announces the coming rain,

and you open the window so the patter
can serenade us as we make love
and eventually lull us to sleep in each others arms

The drops of rain fall lightly

as I lift my face to the sky, eyes closed
landing on my forehead, my cheeks, my lips
and I reach out to capture the wetness on my tongue

The discovery of that deep, greening and hidden cove

We made love there on your boat tucked away, almost hidden
Our movements rocked the boat as the water undulated around us
and I warmly surrounded you

Rounding a corner to hear the rush of your waterfall

I gasped at the surprise of it - gurgling, splashing
We climbed, slipped, helped and held each other
and listened to the water laugh its way down to the lake

The near silence in the middle of the lake, only the sound of the water

rippling around us as we sit still, the silence roaring in our ears
and finally, the sound of our passage hitting the lake shores
first one, then the other

Going home, the lapping of our wake as we move through the water

the water swirling in eddies behind us
We move smoothly, cleanly, without resistance,
without fear

~ Mk Michaels 

Your Red Palette

A riot of red surrounds
the face of a Madonna
but, I suspect you are Jewish…

The tease of your music

lures me, lulls me
and I develop an appetite for more.

A flowing spiral of

your words and mine
entwining, entangling, engaging.

Your image is an assembly of

words scattered across a page
a likeness I imagine captures your essence.

Your sonance is of tender tapas tastes

your life’s work,
These brief melodies leave me wanting.

 

The touch and taste and scent of you

are imagined and yet, I know they would be familiar
….like coming to a beloved home.

You have captivated me from an absurd distance
and I feel like a stalker
wanting to peer in your windows for the view alone.

Your palette is full and ripe and ready

to paint and burn my tongue with its sweetness…
but the savor of you will come…

….and I will be nourished.

 

~ Mk Michaels, 2007