There is blood that has to be seen

to remove the dirt feeling inside

the part that gets disgusted

touching or even smelling it.

There is blood

all over my night memories--

a ski trip by bus,

trapped in the lodge by sudden flood.

No Kotex in the washroom,

no one to tell this to,

underwear cast out in the garbage.

Can't tell my boyfriend, men

must be protected from the curse.

After a long trip home, crying

alone in a darkened high school

washroom, feeling cursed.

I need to re-vision

the blood

feel the blessing of eggs

washing away, lining cleansed

ready for new beginnings.

I need to see God as a woman

who bleeds.

© 2005 Jennifer Boire

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