The Bleeding Woman

The Bleeding Woman

Mary Grace Mangano

Her every penny had been spent already
But all the doctors dropped their hands onto
Their thighs and let out long sighs over her.
She only grew worse. Blood was always leaving
Her like sand or like sons that are gone too
Soon. All the poppy juice, jasper, and myrrh
For twelve years couldn’t cure the nightly heaving
Of broken-vesseled limbs that wouldn’t steady.

She’d heard about the angel-stranger—heard
The God-man could heal daughters that might die.
From the dust, on her knees, behind the crowd
Around Him, there she reached to touch His cloak.
Immediately the flow of blood was dry.
He turned and asked aloud who touched His shroud.
She trembled, tassel still in hand, and spoke
The whole truth. Courage, He said. And be cured.

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Mary Grace Mangano
Writer & Educator

Mary Grace has been published in Dappled Things, Presence, and Fare Forward

Photography by Amy J. Lewis