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,
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
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,