I want to write a poem about abortion and the recent ruling
by the Subprime Court
That corporations can have religious beliefs that prevent
them from offering
Birth control and other family planning services to their
employees.
I first heard of abortion when I saw a flyer about it on the
wall
At our favorite burger stand when I was a kid.
I brought mother to look at it
And I rue the day I showed it to her, because before that
she was pro-choice.
But what does it mean that she was so easily swayed
By her nine-year old leading her to propaganda?
It was a letter from an unborn child
Baby
Fetus
to its
His
Her mother saying
“I love you and couldn’t wait to be your little boy
Little girl, and it was safe and warm
Floating in a warm primordial stew and then it came, and pain came as
It
ripped off my arms and legs
And
pulled me from my safe cocoon before I was ready
And then Jesus came, and took me to Heaven, and told me what
the monster was:
Abortion.
Mommy, I hope the Abortion Monster doesn’t get you!
What a thing for a young girl to see! For a vulnerable mind
to think about!
I am an adult now and I have never had a living thing
growing in me
So I don’t choose for others, and I would hold a sister’s
hand
And support her choices.
And anyway the debate seems to be more about control than
saving lives:
Why else would they also be against contraception
And other forms of perfectly sane birth control?
And what about those—like my delicate college friend—
Whose bleeding would not stop but for those pills from
Pfizer?
Still I continued to debate the issue with my mother,
Despite it not really applying to me, for reasons you can
speculate on,
And I found out that the Bible itself does not mention the
procedure
Though it took place in that world as often as our own
(the work of midwives, mostly)
But she would tell me about the people of Israel
Sacrificing their children to the god Moloch
So that meant abortion to her, while to Allen Ginsberg
Moloch represented the military-industrial complex that
destroyed
The best minds of his generation.
This fixation on Moloch, and what he—it—represents
Is one of two things I share with the famed Beat poet.
The other is “Holy my mother in the insane asylum!”
