Gift of Warmth

            Image borrowed from Eavan Boland, “Quarantine.”

Why be ashamed of what I really am,
a body?
Who says I’m ashamed?

My body’s made it all the way to Mecca—
a hadji.
Why be ashamed of what I really am?

My body’s a ham—
my body’s bawdy.
Who says I’m ashamed

of the shoddy thing?
I wear bling to make it gaudy.
Why be ashamed of what I really am?

Give the fiddler a dram,
I say—if it’s after five o'clock, pour it a toddy!
Who says I’m ashamed—

starving husband in that Irish poem, drawing her feet to him,
cold and already soddy?
Why be ashamed of what I really am?
Who says I’m ashamed?