Stormy PoeticJustice
almost a mother
you make me
want to be
pro-life
because women
like you
cannot be trusted
with a choice.
anguished, i listen,
(mouth agape)
as you illustrate
your experience -
the mere expulsion
of blood and tissue -
like you are
reporting
the weather.
sure is hot today.
i hope
tomorrow
will be better…
i know my
revulsion stems
in part from
bitter jealousy -
that what you do
with your body
has nothing to do
with me.
28 July 2010
but i can’t help
but draw
a shaky parallel
between the
three
you decided
against and the
three
i prayed for.
each time
waiting
(eyes closed),
hoping for the
+ sign
to appear.
every time
disappointed,
as i watched
my savings
disappear.
today, i am
almost a mother
the same way that
i am almost thin -
you see,
i am not.
i watch helplessly,
searching my heart for a
way to comfort your
daughter while she
screams.
She doesn’t understand
why the doctor
must change the
bandages on her
hands that veil
the burns -
evidence
that you taught her
once and for all
not
to touch
the stove.
so I close my eyes
momentarily,
and remember
my time as a student.
it was my responsibility
to supervise as you
held your newborn child -
born addicted.
you, glaring at me like
it was my fault that
the powers that be
didn’t believe
your story
about the “contact high”
you got from the air
how you couldn’t believe
it was in your baby’s system
how you had
no idea
how it got there.
so I try not to succumb
to the blues,
but my sentiment
breaks free of its
capricious cage
as I watch
the evening news.
your son
died
in a hot car
while you threw back
a few beers
in the local bar.
your son
died
in a hot car
while you threw back
a few beers
in the local bar.
it’s worth repeating.
so I continue
to foster
babies I cannot keep,
children so broken
that I cannot
hold them together;
souls so lost
that I can only hope
to one day reach them.
on second thought…
i’m glad you were
afforded the choice,
because there are only
so many
almost mothers
out there
to give your children
a
voice.