A Liturgy for the Forgotten Women

I. HAGAR — The Unseen
Hagar’s knees buckle in the blistering sun,
her thin cry swallowed by rust-colored silence.

A woman slips out before dawn,
violet shadows blooming beneath her skin,
child’s breath warm against her chest,
mercy waiting in the thin mattress
and the clipboard’s blank lines.


II. THE WOMAN WHO REACHES — The Dismissed
Dust swirls as a woman slips through the crowd,
twelve years of ache gathering in a single reach,
confession of touch enough to turn Him.

A woman waits in a cold clinic chair,
her hands folded around a quiet plea.
Stale coffee in the air--
keys clicking her dismissal,
“everything looks normal” typed without looking up,
a door clicking shut behind her.


III. HANNAH — The Longing
Her whispered prayer mistaken for madness,
grief trembling in her throat before she speaks.

A woman anchors herself to the cool bathroom floor,
knees drawn in, a name breathed into the tile’s cold,
prenatal vitamins unopened on the counter,
pink-tinged water swirling down the bowl.


IV. BENEDICTION — EL ROI
El Roi, who traced every tear in desert dust,
who found the bruised, the bent,
the woman bowed beneath loss she could not name,
still gathers the overlooked.

The God who found her in the wilderness
sees His daughters where
sorrow bends their bodies low.
He lifts their faces,
naming them Beloved.​

--
Alexandria Marianne Leon is a poet and mother based in Salem, Oregon, where she writes about motherhood, faith, embodiment and the quiet, sacred moments of ordinary life. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Parousia and Radix.