Choice Words
Writers on Abortion
Annie Finch, Annie Finch
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
Choice Words
Writers on Abortion
Annie Finch, Annie Finch
About This Book
A landmark literary anthology of poems, stories, and essays, Choice Words collects essential voices that renew our courage in the struggle to defend reproductive rights. Twenty years in the making, the book spans continents and centuries. This collection magnifies the voices of people reclaiming the sole authorship of their abortion experiences. These essays, poems, and prose are a testament to the profound political power of defying shame. Contributors include Ai, Amy Tan, Anne Sexton, Audre Lorde, Bobbie Louise Hawkins. Camonghne Felix, Carol Muske-Dukes, Diane di Prima, Dorothy Parker, Gloria Naylor, Gloria Steinem, Gwendolyn Brooks, Jean Rhys, Joyce Carol Oates, Judith Arcana, Kathy Acker, Langston Hughes, Leslie Marmon Silko, Lindy West, Lucille Clifton, Mahogany L. Browne, Margaret Atwood, Molly Peacock, Ntozake Shange, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Sharon Doubiago, Sharon Olds, Shirley Geok-lin Lim, Sholeh Wolpe, Ursula Le Guin, and Vi Khi Nao.
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My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches, and
your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?â
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.
All.
but not like now. No one stood up
and said, My name is Jane and Iâm
an abortionist. No. Because we didnât
want to stop, we werenât trying not to do it.
We sat in apartments, passing the cards.
One card is Sandy from West Lafayette,
eighteen years old, coming in on the bus.
Sheâs got about sixty-three dollars, she thinks
sheâs nine weeks pregnant. The next card is
Terrelle, whoâs thirty-two and angry. Her
doctor gave her an IUD that didnât work;
he says thereâs nothing he can do.
Hereâs Mona, fifty-four years old, has one
hundred dollars, wants to keep this secret
from her family. And Carlie, a long termâ
twenty weeks pregnant, may have ten dollars,
twelve years old like Monaâs youngestâshe
got herpes from her brother when he did it.
Every week some of the cards were passed
around for hours; none of us wanted
to counsel those women, take one
into her life. The longest of long terms,
they lived far away, had no one but us,
no one to tell, no one to help, no money.
They needed everything. Cards went around
the room while we talked: dilation, syringes,
xylocaine, the Saturday list. At the end
of the meeting, all the cards were taken.
and careful not to step in the parking lot where
guardians in orange watch for violations.
Across the street is a shop selling
PARROTS PARROTS PARROTS
Nun on the sidewalk says,
churchgoers, church pray-ers, hallowed be thy name,
and all the rest of it, again and again, but more
around Easter, when the sin is worse.
Angry Old White Man on the sidewalk says,
youâre no better than Muslims
who go around killing people. he spends his days
with his sidewalk family. Sanctimony is thicker than blood.
Cardboard Pope on the sidewalk says,
give me your baby. thereâs a man named Frank who
tells brown people in Spanish that his name is Francis, like the Papa.
he wants your baby too. i want to ask who does he offer his prayers to.
are his vigils for dead womenâ
dead from bleach, dead from poison, dead from knitting needles in
their vaginas?
where is his burning candle for sepsis, for bleeding tissue, for suicide?
But i have signed a pledge of non-engagement.
inside, the women reach home base, safe, Ollie ollie oxen free.
they battle cardboard popes to be here. They want to explain to me
they cry or they donât. they say sorrysorrysorry for:
crying, not crying, asking questions, needing to check when someone
can drive them.
being pregnant, for not understanding why before, for needing
another one, for their kids running around the office.
i think, do they apologize to the Cardboard Pope, ask for:
absolution, forgiveness, mercy, understanding, unconditional godly love.
inside there is propofol and cookies for when you wake up and
doulas to hold your hand or ignore. Inside there is sisterhood telling you:
donât cry, oh my kids are teenagers too, i can give you a ride.
outside there is Papa Frank, and there is no baby to give him.
he wants nothing from you now.