by Joann Boswell
—Matthew 9:20-22, Mark 5:25-34, Luke 8:43-48
You are electric
waltzing aware of privilege
storing that excess
energy in masculine swagger
using just what you need
saving the rest
surging at your seams
free for the taking
uniquely accessible
for those society deems
unworthy—like me
I am drained
disease draws blood daily
allocating me: tent city
out in female forest
where we bleed, unclean
monthly for most
but I get no reprieve
malady afflicted
too feminine for my own good
dripping unnecessarily
forever outcast pathosis
Years invisible drown my hope
provide an easy target
the powerful take aim
assaulting me with empty
promises while claiming my prize,
my last resources flooding
their ample coffers, further
erasing my existence
But your impeccable sight
and generosity create a hubbub
transcending the din
of the marketplace, reaching
even our lowly camps—
I’ll make a last-ditch effort
there’s nothing left
to lose
I feel you pass
steps hemorrhaging enlightenment
your smile flashes, illuminating my courage
You walking outlet, I will plug in
just for a second, finesse your fringe
I have it on good authority
that you will share, I take heart,
reach out, connect with a casual jolt
shocked that you notice,
restored in your awareness
So, yes. It was me—
I touched your robe,
took what is mine.
