Poem: I Sing The Fat Self, by Frannie Zellman


2 Responses to “Poem: I Sing The Fat Self, by Frannie Zellman”

  1. fatfrannie Says:

    I Sing The Fat Self – by Frannie Zellman, copyright 2006

    I sing the fat self that flourishes, acquires girth, births and blooms its stomach
    And thighs and limbs, soft but sturdy as it flows among people and things it knows and greets. I sing the self that bounces, plump and easy and free, not tightened or wired
    Or cut like meat into the correct sizes for freezing and eating. I sing the self that hugs and is hugged, is cuddled in all places, sleeps and slips sweetly against its loving partners, limned by colors fine and bright, limbed in lace and silk and cotton to flower its curves and cleavage and comeliness.

    I sing the fat self that thumps with a great triumphant splash into creeks, rivers, lakes and oceans, spraying eddies and currents and waves as the water sloshes over its luscious wealth of skin and muscle and heft. I sing the self that rends the air as it spills up to balance a serve, aims clear, smacks, spikes and volleys and digs the ground, its strong fat haunches planted sleek and fast as it passes to players, then bounds up and anchors the net. I sing the self that runs newly-dried turf, fit, fat and swinging from base to base after batting over heads and hands and heaps of scrambling fans.

    I sing the fat self that sows, rends, reaps, harvests, mulling each seed and petal and plant it worked into earth wetted and mulched and mowed into wide waiting warmth. I sing the self that once molded, still molds clay into loving fat women with plentiful breasts and hips and thighs and furred organs of pleasure.

    I sing the fat self that wells into city streets, its arms akimbo with briefcase and cellphone and printouts of stately, high, thick buildings yet to be born. I sing the self that struts high on scaffolds after welding metal and glass into windows and rafters and beams and partitions, its muscled arms and strong, succulent chest pointing to where the next fire will take wood and make of it a tower.

    I sing the fat self that feeds its lovely fat children and their friends, that hugs its plump grandmother with her soft cheeks and gently knowing hands. I sing the self that argues for its right to stay fat and free, the self that celebrates growth, nurturing, strength, fullness, roundness. I sing the self that raises its voice for all who are spurned, hated, disliked, ostracized, ignored.

    I sing the fat soul.

  2. fatfrannie Says:

    Strange error in posting, but you can view the poem in the “reply”.

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