I wanted to post this poem my wife wrote about Xena before she came to our house.  I think it is amazing.


She walked with bouncy curls and a black leather jacket
Seeking out services to trade
“I’ll feed your depravity, you feed mine.”
The customers aren’t few
And she gets to go back to the-house-across-the-street.

I love her laugh-it still has joy of innocence

She doesn’t speak of what’s been done to her,
She doesn’t want pity.
She speaks of only her love for god and hatred of the cycle:
Loving God-
Loving crack.

Her bible is more worn than mine,
More notes in the margins
Reminding her of who he was, why he came-for her.

It’s who she is that there is no reminder
I suppose that’s why there is no change
Change to what?

If she were to stop, then what?
She would still be the person she was when she took her first hit-
Looking and searching for a way out of herself.
She’d stumble, seek and find,
Like she did before.

When she got out of the car she was cordial
She’s very normal like that-
Normal on crack, normal with a body to trade.

God told me he missed her and that why he sent us to her
I thought it was to rescue her
But she doesn’t believe in rescues.
So that didn’t work.

Maybe it was enough for the moment just to be with each other-
Creator and beloved.
That’s what I believed as I watched her walk away.