(Luke 8: 49-55)

If I could just touch

            the hem of his garment,

                I could keep hidden,

and still be healed

He doesn’t need to know

I am here.

I’m good at this hiding

After twelve years bleeding,

Twelve years swindled from me

Twelve years concealing

the disgrace of what I am

I must keep hidden

Everyone knows

Women may not bleed in the presence of men.

Why has he stopped?  How can he ask,

            “Who touched me?”

It could be anyone

            I could still keep



something new is drawing me

            And I know

I will step out now,

            In front of everyone

And speak.