In the Body of a Woman

I’ve been searching for the
source of your fear—

The wound that you
have forgotten,
but never healed.

The wound that has not
forgotten you.

How can any human being
choose to desecrate the
holy vessel from which they
emerged?

You were conceived
in the body of a woman.

Your father’s best swimming sperm
found your mother’s luminous egg,
and they joined in union.

You are nature’s miracle.

In time, your fingers and toes
took their form in the body
of a woman.

You wiggled them delightfully.
What wonderment.
And sucked your tiny thumb.
What comfort.

You became unmistakably human
in the womb of a woman.

I’m curious:

What about that disgusts you?

Please, tell me. I want to know.

In the body of a woman.

You’ve burned us,
beat us,
stoned us,
owned us,
molested and raped us—

body and soul.

Witch.

Whore.

Chattel.

Cunt.

Bitch.

Mother.

Daughter.

Sister.

Aunt.

Niece.

Do my breasts actively offend you?

Does my vagina scream profanities?

Do you think my loins are the Devil’s hiding place?

Please, help me. I want to understand.

In the body of a woman.

This, my body, is nourishment.

This, my body, is love.

This, my body, is creation.

Why does this, my body, terrify you so?

Please, sit with me awhile. I want to embody compassion.

In the body of a woman.

Wounds are not healed through bloodshed.

Wounds are not healed through oppression.

Wounds are not healed through loss of dignity or shaming.

Wounds are not healed in ink.

Oh why are you compelled to try to do so?

Please, take my hand.  I want to help you find another way.

In the body of a woman.

I’ve been searching for the
source of your fear -

The wound that you
have forgotten,
but never healed.

The wound that has not
forgotten you.

Please, listen for just a moment.  

Please, I want you to hear just this:

If I could take your body in my open arms,

and heal all your wounds,

I would.

In the body of a woman.

— Jamie K. Reaser