by Joann Boswell
Young woman, boo-boo healer,
songwriter, wonderful comforter,
mighty good, everlasting Mama,
peasant of peace,
filled with grace and grit
It is said that you are pure
insinuating that (shhhh!)
s – e – x is inherently evil
that the epitome of innocence lies
within your immaculate womb
where no semen dare enter
Do I become
valueless if it turns out you were
raped? As so many are
objects to be used
vessels to be filled
children to be hushed
Was I born into nothing, to unknown
parents, next to manure,
making her unclean because she gave
birth? For female blood is unholy,
but because her knees opened
only for a baby, not for a man,
I am holy?
Does my life’s work diminish if it turns out
she got a bit freaky before
the ring-ring?
So what if I was
illegitimate? Would that invalidate
my existence, my love, my hope?
The bastard who healed the world
reframed to keep ladies legs shut?
