Stomach Kisses

Apparently, I’m bad with money. When I should be saving, I go out and buy four pints of Ben and Jerry’s – which I then eat in a single sitting. You haven’t lived until you’ve had their Cinnamon Buns ice cream – which you can easily find using the Flavor Locator (http://www.benjerry.com/flavors/our-flavors/#).

Part of the problem is that I LOVE to shop – usually for books, movies, and video games. Sometimes I’ll even go for a round of clothes shopping and like it. Not shoes, though. I hate shopping for shoes.

If I go out window-shopping, I tend to come home with a couple panes of glass, anyway. The last time I went out, though, I had a bit of success. I went to a GameStop to see if, by chance, they have some of those obscure PS2 games I’ve really wanted to get my hands on. I’m proud to report that I did NOT succumb to the temptation to buy Sly Cooper and the Thievius Raccoonus or Lego Batman. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I patted myself heartily on the back and ran straight to Barnes and Noble, where I spent $40 on a book of poetry and two collections of Captain America comic books.

Now, as cool as Captain America is… wait, you don’t think he’s cool? Look, in one of these issues I just bought, Cap jumps off a building and BLOCKS A MISSILE WITH HIS FREAKIN’ SHIELD! If that doesn’t register as “super awesome” on your “Awesometer,” you may need to get it checked. I’m sure the friendly faces at your local Auto Zone would be glad to help.

Anyway, what’s REALLY stuck with me the past little while is a new poem I read by Michael Ondaatje (pronounced on-da-AT-je… okay, I don’t have the faintest clue how to pronounce that). I picked up some poems he wrote in a collection called The Cinnamon Peeler… mainly because the title looked cool.

So apparently I consider cinnamon to be twice as “cool” as Captain America. In case you were keeping track.

Now, I don’t know the title of this particular poem. It’s either untitled, or part of a long series of poems called “Rock Bottom,” or it’s from a BOOK called Rock Bottom, or something. Doesn’t matter – in any case, the poem touches on an interesting subject. Here it is:

Kissing the stomach
kissing your scarred
skin boat. History
is what you’ve travelled on
and take with you

We’ve each had our stomachs
kissed by strangers
to the other

and as for me
I bless everyone
who kissed you here

Maybe it’s my sheltered Mormon upbringing, but the sensuality of this poem really struck me. It shouldn’t have surprised me, though. I should have seen the “romance” coming. I mean, it says right on the cover of the book that Michael Ondaatje also wrote The English Patient.

The reason I’ve been thinking about this poem so much recently has less to do with raw sensuality (although… never mind. My mom reads these) and more to do with the sentiment brought up in the last stanza: “I bless everyone/who kissed you here.” Now, to me, that’s some deep “free love” sentiment.

See, I’m a pretty jealous individual. I’d be more prone to say “emotionally needy and insane,” but you might say “jealous” if you’re trying to be nice (and is it weird that I think jealousy is less shameful than emotional neediness?). If I’m in a relationship with someone – heck, if I’m even INTERESTED in someone – and they bring up a former boyfriend, I tend to get a bit moody and withdrawn, like I immediately start wondering what they have that I don’t. And I admit that’s a bit two-faced. I mean, I hope the girls who might be interested in me don’t get all mopey over my past relationships. Generally, though, that line of thinking doesn’t help me get over the sadness.

Ondaatje presents a different way of looking at the situation. He goes beyond the shared experience of “Yeah, we’ve both been with other people before we found each other.” To him, somehow, the men in his lover’s past are… well, they’re holy. I can’t think of how else to say this… it’s like Ondaatje recognizes in them kindred spirits: fellow worshippers united in faith to that same being – the woman. If nothing else, I guess, Ondaatje acknowledges these other men have… good taste in women?

I think I’m still unpacking exactly why this poem struck me the way it has. Maybe the rest of you don’t think much about your significant others’ histories – or, if you do, you don’t get moody over it like I do – but Ondaatje’s attitude, for me, is a radical approach to dealing with the past. Something about it feels… right. More respectful, almost devotional. And I think I approve.

With, you know, the sentiment. The spirituality, I mean. Not the gratuitous stomach-kissing. Not that. Ew.