Home » Poems » Pippi B. » Seven Weeks and Six Days

Seven Weeks and Six Days

Week six.  
There is a natural disaster occurring, tsunamis of 
morning queasiness Monday through Friday, Tuesday's
lunch on my favorite pants, denial dances on the weekends.
It was Sunday. One word, two syllables causes a tornado 
of emotions, hurricanes of tears hit my hands and pours to
the floor, my heart sinks and drowns. How many casualties will there be? 
 
Fact: 
I account for thirteen percent of the population but 
thirty-seven percent of all abortions. 

Saturday. 
With my hoodie sheltering my identity, I enter the building.
Protestors, shouting this is murder, hand me pamphlets that I ball up and 
throw away, sign my name and wait. Blood samples and pee tests.
Ultrasound pictures, nurses ask do I want to be sleep or awake?
Counselor asks how will I feel on Sunday? Floods of tears drench 
my shirt, uncertainty and guilt gets caught in my throat. It’s time. 

Fact: I am five times more likely to get an abortion than white women. 

I remain stoic.
But in the inside, I tremble like a newborn antelope fearing the new world. 
I weep like a lioness losing her cub. The nurses strap my legs to the paddles. 
My heart beats and I swore if you looked closely, you could see it protruding 
out my chest, my mind races and I swore I saw galaxies and landed on Saturn, 
I stare out at the strawberry colored walls and I remembered how far along
the nurse said I was. I couldn't muster the nerve to look at the ultrasound screen. 

Fact: Sixty-nine percent of pregnancies of black women are unintended compared 
to fifty percent of hispanic women and forty percent of white women. 

Seven weeks and six days.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.