Harvesting Babies

I finally watched the Planned Parenthood video wherein practitioners of abortion swap methods of harvesting babies (for scientific purposes, of course).

Ugh.

I had to look up “dig”–which is short for inducing a fatal heart attack in a doomed fetus–order to circumvent laws against partial-birth abortion.

The central lie of the abortion industry all these years was the right of women to conspire with their “healthcare providers” to rid themselves of “globs of tissue.”

Never mind that this has always been a well-documented fiction.

The “globs of tissue” were always our children.

Living. Breathing. Viable. Babies.

The numbers for these dead children are now in the tens of millions–a whole country of dead children.  Some now so long dead that if their mothers had chosen to allow them life, they would now be old enough to govern their own country.

It goes without saying abortion would not be legal there.

But there is this as well–the video of the nice Texas ladies obligingly discussing delivering doomed fetuses “spine first” so as to better serve the researchers who wait to buy their stem cells, severed spines and all–puts the lie to more than just the glob theory.

They prove these little ones have always been whole, alive, human.

They also prove we no longer are. If we were we would feel the necessary pain associated with the medical extermination of our own children.

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I picture God

sitting by a beautiful 

Window

Looking out on an unbroken sea

Busy in His thoughts

(It is an infinite

Universe, after all)

When you (little you)

Speak words to The Divine

He stops everything to listen

Rapt in love 

Because to Him

You are that dear

Insufficient Imagination

It seems to me the persistent

Drip of water

On your captive imagination

Or insects in sufficient multitudes

A thousand casual

Acts of war

Should all be enough to 

Clue you in (my dear)

Hell is real

And has been for some time now 

Don’t pretend you cannot 

Imagine what would remain 

With only Light removed

From our collective 

Equation.

I just broke up

i just broke up

With “advanced laser solution”

Not that I don’t need advanced laser solutions…

I do.  I truly do

Physics and history work their genius

On so many pieces

Of me

Slipping from freedom

I cut lose from these persistent words

To all the other liberating break-ups–

People I used to know

Now so many

Strangers.

(Not) alone in the dark

there have been times

In the last six years

When I have thought

Look! The insomnia has abated 

…Low tide….

….Rain after a drought….

…A decent President…

Ephemeral

You think, saved! But your reason retorts–not so fast

I get irritable by 1:47 in the morning

Knowing why I inhabit these midnight places

Ghosts are familiar

Girl in the dark

I wish I could have travelled back to you 

There believing only you 

Were awake in the world 

Travel back to tell you

I Am.  I am here

Trail to you

J reminds me of this–one more videotape I could not watch.  Each night I would attempt to make sense of the mess–hand wash dishes, sweep floors.

This particular night there was an apple, red, nearly perfect.  Only one baby bite etched into its skin.

A few inches away there was another.  Same MO–one tiny bite removed from its skin.  Then another and another until the rest of the bag lay at the end of a trail of beautiful red apples, each grazed by the tiny perfect teeth of a wandering toddler.
Baby, really.  You were still just a beautiful, perfect baby.

We laughed at your perfect crime.  Filmed it for posterity.  Aware that you were borrowed and that the trail you left was indelible.