No guilt,
of being found
with the impress
of a wound, stamped
in the sad and haunting image
of a wound
that you always have detested,
that you scorned
as it, in turn, was spurned
by countless others
in your place
who wished
as deeply as do you
they could be free

No curse
upon the generations
no alarm
no stain upon your visage —
You are pure,
as pure as all the others
down the broad and brilliant
pathway of your line,
For when you lift your head
out of that dream,
you lift them all,
and when you’re lifted,
you all, together, shine.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 27, 2014