I finally watched the Planned Parenthood video wherein practitioners of abortion swap methods of harvesting babies (for scientific purposes, of course).
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.
sitting by a beautiful
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
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
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
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
there have been times
In the last six years
When I have thought
Look! The insomnia has abated
….Rain after a drought….
…A decent President…
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
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.
the door of the world
Is ajar, my Love
Spilling darkness through the narrow gap
Where light should be