The Baby Who Rests, Somewhere

Recent discussions and the passing of the law to abort late-term in New York has me saddened, heartbroken. In praying and pondering, I was inspired to write a poem to honor those precious lives lost too soon– 50 million in the US since 1973. (Abortion was the leading cause of worldwide death in 2018.)

The Baby Who Rests, Somewhere

By Jessica Wrasman


Some claim “rights” to discard,

Some proudly,


To make him or her unknown


His or her life, then, I say,

We have the right to know


Where did that baby go?

That one taken from the secret place

And now discarded

There, somewhere, also secret.


My only solace is in knowing,


Laid there, bare, and secret

Little lips, fuzzy hair

Tiny finger prints


In some sick way,

Is its sanctity, in its being hidden there,


Else why the unknowing?


Its life started and lost too soon

That baby, this baby, underfoot

Whose life became–soot, somewhere.


Because as we learn from Donne–

That baby affects me, and his death, her death,

Becomes my cause to mourn.


And when I look at a tree I might


The baby has been laid to rest–somewhere–

And is now shaded, nourished by a life

Which will

Not be truncated before its time.


And, in living and dying,

It might nourish that which was supposed to nourish it, teach it, love it,

Him or her, that is,

Laid there.


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