The same men I slept with
last season
make laws to clamp my legs
closed to new clients.
They declare my curves
hold a sweet seduction
as dangerous as crack.
I’m just another dealer
getting good young men
addicted to my product.
When my bleeding stops
(between my legs but not in my heart)
they become holy champions
for a growing group of cells
infecting my womb.
I prostrate myself
before their doctors.
Red dripping down white poster board,
splinters in their calloused hands,
They scream it’s my righteous punishment
for my whoring ways.
When their laws and decrees
force a baby from my belly,
no wise men come with gifts
of frankincense and myrrh.
As he tears from my body
my sin passes into his blood,
and their disdain for me shadows him.
Tiny cubicles in overcrowded offices
dispense too little money
for such a demanding creature.
Mother’s instinct takes hold.
I hit the streets,
as I did for his sister.
I ignore their laws,
and create a life for the life
they demanded
I birth.
When he grows up
he’ll be ashamed of his roots.
He’ll make laws to protect
men
from women
like me.