Welcome Friends!

A Catholic blog about faith, social issues, economics, culture, politics and poetry -- powered by Daily Mass & Rosary

If you like us, share us! Social media buttons are available at the end of each post.

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Choice

(On April 17, 1979, six years after Roe v Wade, a choice is made that never would have been possible before 1973 in the United States of America.)

by Susan Fox

This is the hoarfrosted moment – bare and sinister;
it chokes a freckled young woman,
dark-haired and beautiful with child.

The day is ugly with torment
and a certain disposable mentality
seeps through the cracks of the sidewalk,
recalling days without nights.


The air is blue gray
as she pulls another drag of happiness,
walking with a bitter finality
to a certain and undisclosed destination.

Her mother is ashamed.
She would whitewash the moment,
send her to a man in a white coat.
The knife is sharp and indifferent.

And the roommate?
She would send the moment away,
put it on a speeding train to infinity,
never say the one word that should be spoken:
“Stop.”
Gnawing on the Bone

We are all such cowards;
unwilling to touch the guilt –
an ugly thing gnawing on our bones.

And the boy?
Well, he is concerned
with economics
and “social responsibility.”

The cash register rings loudly
in the icy silence
while his son is delivered  
into a pool of blood.




Wednesday, Jan. 22, 2014, the Catholic Church recognizes a Day of Prayer for the Legal Protection of Unborn Children. 

6 comments:

  1. Startling in its shock and powerful witness against not only the evil of abortion, but its insidious infection of human relationships.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I was brought here via a retweet and read your poem. I understand your sentiment here, yet I feel that the argument you make via this message is rather narrow and one sided. Yes there are cases where women (and the participating men) should think better and not use this escape. Yet there are many cases where a life is ruined more by bringing it into the world that not.

    Here I feel that if we impose how we should treat our own bodies (this includes tattoos, what clothes to wear, whom to marry, etc...) on women we are stripping them of their basic freedoms. This is different than if a woman in a free world chooses to put restrictions on themselves. That is their choice. I mean if society inflicts rules upon a women that restricts their basic freedom.

    Education about sexuality, the freedom to choose birth control, and open discussions have proven to more successful toward the prevention of abortion due to the young age of the mothers.

    In cases where a woman is raped I fully support abortion. It would be torturous for both mother and child to be forced to live under that stigma.

    Finally, just to comment on the 'delivery in a pool of blood': if this was to be taking literally (I assume you do not use it here as such), such procedures done in the hospitals and clinics by trained physicians are not bloody. At an early stage of pregnancy this is done with a small simple suction device. On the other hand in countries were abortion is illegal, women who do seek out an abortion are at high risk of infection or death due to untrained hands or just crazy practices.

    Does this mean that we touched the discussion on when a fetus is life and when it is not? No, I do not dare to claim that I know. Yet we find it "humane" to shoot a horse in the head due to a broken leg, but find it equally humane to let a cancer patient die of pain we cannot (and hope never) even understand.

    Sometimes the more humane thing to do is to reduce future suffering.

    I thank you for this poem, for it evokes a discussion. Opinions we are allowed to have in our part of the world.

    A final word on the poem itself: clearly written with the sense of horror. I personally do not like the message. That is all.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Dear Unknown, Thank you for your comment. It is now clear from the Center for Medical Progress videos that the unborn child is a tiny man, looks just like my husband or son, but a very smaller version, but he doesn't have his eyes yet. And this tiny man has a heart beating. But while his heart is beating, the technician cut his face open and removed his brain. This is the commodification of human children. The child wanted to be loved just like you do but he was exploited for his brain. Women who have had abortions, trying to prove the child is a blob of cells, have shown me pictures of the result of their abortion -- it was a beaker of blood. In my mind, I thought if we were put through the same procedure the only difference in appearance is that our beaker of blood would be much larger. Does that mean we are not human because we can be reduced to a beaker of blood? Regarding the poem. I experienced every nuance of every emotion regarding this abortion. My roommate had a one-night stand with a man who was married, in an open marriage where the spouses give each other permission to cheat. She told me since she just met him, she didn't have birth control and they kissed and tried not to have sex, but they failed. She got pregnant. Both mother and father were extremely beautiful people. The child must have been lovely. Her mother said, "Oh my, we can't have people find out you had sex, we must kill my grandchild." My roommate went along with it, but in the days preceding the abortion she smoked dope the entire time. I had never seen her smoke dope before or after. The man who was the father of the child paid for the abortion. That was the total extent of his involvement. She got him on the carpet for the cost. What kind of man will submit to the murder of his child, thinking "I've met my responsibility. I paid for the abortion." The answer is an immoral man who cheats on his wife, married to an immoral woman, who lets him. He is also weak, not really a man at all.

    With regard to suffering, you have probably had as much as that tiny child would have. Do you think you should have been killed and spared the trouble of the suffering? I've had suffering, but I prayed about the experience and actually some of my worst suffering is among my happier memories for the simply reason that God has brought good out of it. My father died when I was four. I still suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome because I was in the back seat when we had a head-on collision that killed my beloved father. I have fibro-myalgia, chronic, chronic pain. do you think I wish I had never been born. No, my unknown friend, I rejoice in living my life even in chronic pain. And before I was born in 1953, a doctor suggested my mother get an illegal abortion because she was so old, 34 years old. Thank God, she paid no attention to him. Disagreeing with the premise of the poem does not negate the reality of my feelings in that abortion. I didn't make it up. God bless you. Susan Fox

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. P.S. I forgot to mention that my roommate told everyone she knew -- all her co-workers and friends -- that she was having the abortion. That little rebellion basically sabotaged her mother's purpose in getting her the abortion -- to keep the pregnancy secret. It wasn't kept a secret. And don't you think that was her way of saying, "Help!" Susan Fox

      Delete
  4. P.S. Unknown. Women should have control over THEIR bodies, but it's not their body, is it? It's someone else's. Susan Fox

    ReplyDelete
  5. Every abortion causes infinite oceans of pain--for the child, the mother and father, the death industry workers. Those who say they feel no remorse have simply not been able to bear the pain of facing the blood...

    ReplyDelete