am 41 years old
I have been bleeding
unencumbered
since the age of 12
for 29 years
with the exception of
11 weeks in 2007 to 2008
27 months from 2009 to 2011
8 weeks in 2016
13 months in 2020-2021
Then there were two years
monitored by “the pill”
that chalky triangular pill I so often
forgot to take
as satisfying
though it was
to push said pill from its foiled
backing, to behold such
power in such
small form
Into my mind I understood
that “the pill” would liberate me
make my life easier
save me
from my body
save me
from my choices
But some small voice said stop
one day when I climbed
Pickens street for the enthteenth time,
hamstrings strained
backpack laden
the tell tale signs of an English major
up the hill to class, the voice asked
“but how would
I feel without
the pill?”
So I stopped taking
the pill and never looked back
Relying instead
on charting
shading moons
of various ranges
in red
for bleeding
green for fertile time
relying instead
on touching
myself
marveling as my lips
went from slick to slippery
to downright sloppy
to that luscious egg white
I’d watch stretch the breadth
of my hand suspended
between two fingers
spread
the width of my hand
and back again
to sealed
and dry
Relying instead
on a partner too
paying attention
one so stingy
he took back the basal
body thermometer
he’d bought for us to use
when acting as lovers
once I moved on
Relying instead
on paying attention
to the signs
of energy waning
heightened perception
extra weight
sensory over load
Relying instead on
resistance
to other women who
sometimes said
when i chose to rest
”Oh I just take an ibuprofen
and get on with it.”
Relying instead on partners
who stood guard for me
who read the signs
with me for me
Rejoicing with/in to
the older woman, who,
when I set up for camp,
and asked how to care for my
cloth pads
for my bleeding body
she smiled at me
and said
“hell, honey, you can bleed
right here on
this Earth.”