Tonight, as you undress, I watch your wondrous

flesh that’s swelled again, the way a river swells

when the ice relents. Sweet relief

just to regard the sheaves of your hips,

your boundless breasts and marshy belly.

I adore the acreage

of your thighs and praise the promising

planets of your ass.

O, you were lean that terrifying year

you were unraveling, as though you were returning

to the slender scrap of a girl I fell in love with.

But your skin was vacant, a ripped sack,

sugar spilling out and your bones insistent.

O praise the loyalty of the body

that labors to rebuild its palatial realm.

Bless butter. Bless brie.

Sanctify schmaltz. And cream and cashews.

Stoke the furnace

of the stomach and load the vessels. Darling,

drench yourself in opulent oil,

the lamp of your body glowing. May you always

flourish enormous and sumptuous,

be marbled with fat, a great vault that

I can enter, the cathedral where I pray.

If meat is put into the bowl, meat is eaten.

If rice is put into the bowl, it may be cooked.

If a shoe is put into the bowl,

the leather is chewed and chewed over,

a sentence that cannot be taken in or forgotten.

A day, if a day could feel, must feel like a bowl.

Wars, loves, trucks, betrayals, kindness,

it eats them.

Then the next day comes, spotless and hungry.

The bowl cannot be thrown away.

It cannot be broken.

It is calm, uneclipsable, rindless,

and, big though it seems, fits exactly in two human hands.

Hands with ten fingers,

fifty-four bones,

capacities strange to us almost past measure.

Scented—as the curve of the bowl is—

with cardamom, star anise, long pepper, cinnamon, hyssop.

—2014

And in the beginning,

God gave your body

a checklist:

Keep your heart

on beat

and your lungs

dancing with oxygen,

not passive to air.

Make sure

the path of your blood

slows down

for checkpoints

and avoids

bumps

in the road.

Train your nerves

to keep a balanced pace

and stay within

the lines

of steady flow.

Push forward

without putting

too much

pressure

on movement.

Remember

to return to water

when your spirit

and its frame

are in drought.

Treat your body

like a well-rounded planet

built for all seasons,

or pretend you are

an adaptable star:

Float in the black

and stay there

if you need to,

save some light

for yourself.

In other words,

rest like the sun does:

Schedule some time

to stay out of sight

when too many people

praise warm energy.

Keep in mind

all of these things

when depression

tells you

nothing is working.

Keep in mind

all of these things

when it tells you

there is no

invisible force

connecting us,

when your veins

are stopped by blood clots,

when your bones are dry,

and the water

is too quick to boil.

Keep in mind

all of these things

when it tells you

that the soul is like the body:

Made to be broken,

open to deterioration

and doubt. Yes,

keep in mind

all of these things

and remember:

Even when it

seems like

the clock isn’t ticking,

you were made perfectly

for this moment

in time.