a woman with an issue (sermon from a couch)

there was a woman

with an issue.

12 years she lived

with a hemorrhage.

12 years,

she bleed.

all her money spent.

no one could tell her why.

no one could cure her of the issue.

for 12 years,

she lived.

sick.

tired.

ostracized.

alienated.

defiled.

broke.

defeated.

who doesn’t understand

this woman.

this woman with an issue.

who crawled

on hands and knees

reaching through dirty feet

and dusty ankles to grab

hold to the very hem

of a garment.

who cannot comprehend

her sheer exhaustion,

having bleed for 12 years.

her tired,

that tired like

new mom in the emergency room

after a house fire

your baby’s lungs full

wondering

what will happen next.

her tired,

that grief filled tired

after that phone call

saying there is nothing more

they could do

if only they had made it

five minutes earlier.

her tired,

that tired when there’s

no food but mouths to feed

tired.

money is gone

can’t make the rent tired.

her tired,

that been on your feet

all day long

back aching

car wouldn’t start

take a bus and then walk

and when you got there

finally got there

here he is

hand out tired.

her tired,

the roof has caved but

the sun has the nerve to shine

trash everywhere and

lapsed insurance

homelessness redefined

tired.

her tired,

that sorry won’t cut it but

sorry is all that’s coming

all day long and

one more sorry

will equal an incident at

mack and mcdougall

tired.

her tired,

that tired fannie preached.

her tired,

that the tired ida talked.

her tired,

that tired harriet walked.

her tired,

that tired where no more

is behind you and

that last straw is at the bottom of

a very deep pile.

a woman with an issue,

done with that issue.

done with tired.

done with loneliness.

done with despair.

done with defeat.

done.

a women with an issue,

who is done with that issue.

ready to lay down that issue,

will crawl on her hands and knees

through dirty ankles and

dusty feet to reach

reach

reach out to touch

a garment.

her faith,

that walk on water

fill this pot

feed these children

let you go so i can be free

faith

surpasses masses.

her faith,

that faith that

suspends you

holds you

makes a way

when the signs all read

dead

end.

her face to the ground.

her mind set on her healing.

she grabbed it,

and was made

whole.

so, yeah.

i identify.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. trevorkarr says:

    I really liked this poem! really well written! I look forward to future posts

    1. Thank you for reading.

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