A Plea to Saint Wilgefortis

As you know, the hair on my face is dark,
it downs my cheek, forests my upper lip,
my jaw. As you must surely know, I tried creams,

they fetched a rash and the hair sprang back.
I’ve never considered myself a freak, just
hairier than most, some say even more hirsute

than you. My mother saw I’d never marry,
father bought me a razor – a cut throat –
and as you know, and will surely sympathise,

I ran away to a caravan, the red and white stripes
of the circus. I make a decent sort of living.
But can I trust you with a secret?

You may not know that my hair’s beginning
to thin, that I mascara the bristles to keep up
appearances of a beard, stroke an eye pencil over

my chin. Daily, I drench what remains of my moustache
in a gentlemen’s tonic, massage well. Help me.
I pray to you Wilgefortis, I kiss your silver shoe.




*Katrina Naomi‘s latest pamphlet is ‘Charlotte Bronte’s Corset’ (Bronte Society 2010). Her first full collection ‘The Girl with the Cactus Handshake’, for which she received an Arts Council England writer’s award, was published in 2009 (Templar Poetry).