I wish my mother had told me
long ago, when I was thirteen,
when I first bled, that trust
is an expensive commodity
not to be given in charity.
I wish she had paused
as she listed out rules of menstruation–
“Don’t enter the prayer room.
Cold water and Rin soap.
Don’t lift anything too heavy.”–
and instead in a scary tone,
which only mothers employ remark
“the kindness of the male folk
is to never precede
a woman’s intellect”
The first stains of blood
should work to bond women
to explain, to assuage, to remind
that woman’s intellect is unattractive,
and for good, useful reasons.
trust is after all to be measured
like mugs of water added to fermented batter
too much, it falls apart
too little it sits like a lump
in one’s throat.
as always, trust should be regulated
for manhood never has been.
asifwordssuffice 