Alright, it's January and time to poem-a-day! Thanks to Nicole Callihan for giving me the push to write this month! Over the next 30 days, I'll be attempting to write a poem a day. This one, is based on my word for the year: strong.
Strong
It feels good to lift heavy weights. Think Samson. Think
legs sprouted from redwoods. Think holding
up the whole fucking sky. Body like a fortified city, everything unnecessary
falling from it Then, the drop, the lightening, the satisfying thud.
When we look at strong bodied women, we first see their
faces (enough make up? Pretty, or butch?). Then, the bared abs, almost reptilian,
the thick muscled legs.
A swimmers body (especially a butterflyer) will not fit
into a normally sized prom dress or wedding dress.
When you swim far distances, you have to find a place inside yourself that no
longer contains your mind. Think glass
carved out with fists. Think universe of forward motion. Think nothing but
shore.
The women competing for the title of “the strongest woman
in the world” climb ropes thicker than their arms. Drag laden sleds. Lift
barbells greater than twice their weight.
Though beautiful, not one will be pictured on a magazine cover outside
of her sport. A strong woman isn’t
marketable.
When you swim across a large lake for many hours the only
thing you can see is the vinculum between sky and the dark, murky water below.
There is a line we draw between fit and over-fit. We hold
that line with images of women who walk in between. Starve enough. Burn enough
to need. Even the swimming catalogs use models who don’t have strong backs or
biceps that could pull their bodies out of the water.
At the end of the Crossfit games, the top three winners grin
and wave from a podium, at ease in their strong bodies.
Perhaps, they are asking us to become indestructible.
Perhaps, with their strength, they can hold up the sky long enough for us to pass through.
