The crowd is throbbing
As my pain is
throbbing.
I have not come this far in years.
Twelve years.
I cannot help the tears
That begin to flow,
To flow as blood has
For twelve years.
I am so close.
But feel so far and fears
Overcome me
As the people overcrowd me.
They know.
They all know.
They must.
I see their glances:
Quick, horrified, averted.
I want to scream:
“Yes! See! See my shame!
Tell me, you proud, you healthy,
Is it my fault?”
But instead I fall.
To my knees I am bent
Beneath the weight of despair
I am kept,
Kneeling, keening.
But my eyes remain fixed
Before me, ahead.
I am fallen
And aching
Bleeding, but not yet dead.
My eyes catch
On a figure weaving
Through this throbbing, living sea.
As I rise to walk,
My vision fades,
As my strength rushes out of me.
I stretch my hand forward feebly.
A hem.
All I seek.
A hem to hem me behind and before
In healing safety.
My finger brushes the rough cloth
Not even for a breath,
But I mine returns.
Immediately,
Blood clots and sight clears.
Love and peace
Are all that flow
Not from, but over me.
Immediately,
I am again on my knees,
Not for lack of strength
But for fearful trembling.
But this fear is new,
As I am made new.
Immediately,
I cannot help
But want to sing:
“Oh, see! See! My shame undone!
See and know!
The bleeding, healing One!”
Immediately.
A Bookish Charm 