Wombstone
By Chris Hansen
This poem is based on a true experience that was recounted to me, and shows the sort of thing that typically goes on in an abortion clinic.
"Don't look," the nurse began to scold;
but I did look, I had to look, I saw the sheet.
I saw that bloody bundle in the fold!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my little baby's dead!
My God! My God! My little one!
My little daughter, my little son!
Jesus forgive me for what I've done!
My God! My God! My little one!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!
"Have some orange juice, my dear."
I wipe away a little tear.
"It hurts a little, but I'm ok;"
but that isn't what I really want to say!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!
I see other women with empty wombs,
Which have become their children’s tombs!
They stare at me with empty eyes,
and something in me slowly dies!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!
Mother's milk began to flow from me.
"I don't understand. How can this be?"
"The fetus was more advanced, you see,"
the nurse said reassuringly.
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!
Late that night, the pain grew worse, and then I bled!
I cried and wished that I were dead.
And in the blood that I now shed,
I saw my little baby's head!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;
but how can I forget that my baby's dead!
"We thought we got it all, my dear.
Don't hesitate to call, my dear.
Don't worry dear, you'll be all right."
Won't anybody hold me, and get me through this lonely night!
"You'll forget." That's what they said;