* *

A hot bath poured
with gentleness--
(no man has ever washed my hair)
or rubbed warm circles on my back
without intent of getting there.

I'll need to trust to tilt my head
a strong hand to hold my neck
I'll need to fight back all the dread
of that thumb that I have met

in stranglehold of ownership.

I long to be a woman...kind.
Oh kiss me there and ease my mind.
Not below, no, kiss me, love,
just above the bridge of nose--
upon my brow where worries bind

me to shackled memory...

I yearn so very much to be
let loose from all the me in me.
Add some salt of purity--
enough that there be buoyancy
revived by Dead Sea properties

I'll wince, but welcome healing burn.

* * *

I warn you, I will stand ashamed
of all of my white scars inflamed.
Please proceed to pat me dry--
a soft-napped cloth would be sublime,
and ointments of comfrey and mint.

Oh help me to be born again--
I long to be a woman, kind.
Breathe on me 'til I relent.
I do so need this sacrament.
Help me believe in life again?

I weep. You see? Again, I'm wet.

* *