Life, Death, and Love

In memory of my friend who tried to give herself an abortion — R.I.P.

Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

You knew, long before reliable signs were there,
The ageless mystery, normally full of promise, could not entice your joy.
The interwoven threads of morality, necessity, instinct, and survival
Disguised the gift that the universe was generously bestowing

The seed had been planted, but you couldn’t bear it. Survival only,
For with poverty and without prospect, there really was no option.
The endowment you carried would grow — a parasite, suckling possibility
Until it ran as dry as the nanny’s teat.

So poor, so precarious, you could not even turn to the mercenary minions
Who would wield their profane blades on unsuspecting worms —
Sweet vermiform whose invocation speaks of miracles and magic,
But whose fetid fortune forecast wretched ruin.

Having no prospect, Lucinda, you carved out the offending maggot,
But impetuous resolve can not summon the surgeon’s skill…
The worm is gone — disengaged, destroyed — egregious excrement.
It knew nothing of discretion, audaciously demanding an audition.

Lucinda, couldn’t you believe? Didn’t you know that love was enough!?

Your innocent child and I are lost.
Do you remember how strong I was? Do you remember how confident?
Last week I had to get rid of the cat. He was far too curious
About the mice, performing in their circus behind the cupboards.

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