Fredagsdiktet: homage to my hips

Forrige helg døde den amerikanske poeten Lucille Clifton, 73 år gammel. Jeg oppdaget det via bloggen Shapely Prose, som omtaler henne slik:
Clifton wrote wonderful, poignant, witty poems whose formal simplicity belies their emotional and political depth. She wrote of the realities of living in a large, black, female body in a racist, sexist culture; she survived cancer and wrote of the joys of the body in the face of mortality.
Nå har jeg lest gjennom en haug med dikt, flotte, morsomme, sinte, lagdelte, enkle - og noen litt ekle.
Her er det mye fint, altså.
Ukas fredagsdikt er derfor et av Cliftons verk. Yay!
God helg, folkens!


homage to my hips

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

Lucille Clifton