This poem is a reflection on the loss of life in miscarriage. It is also a response to spoken artist Leyla Josephine’s poem, “I Think She Was a She,” in which the artist looks back on and justifies her abortion. The author of this poem has taken the basic structure of Leyla Josephine’s original work for poetic effect.
“I think she was a she,
and had she lived
she might have looked just like me.
Pale skin, blue eyes and long limbs that would have flailed about
until folding up into my arms at night.
I would have told her great tales of heroes long ago,
of her great-grandfathers and others she didn’t know.
I would have taught her how to read and bake
and with Your help, how to do it all
for Your name’s sake.
She might have been like you too,
so loyal, with those eyelashes that go on and on,
thoughtful and methodical, and protective of her little ally.
She could have been born.
I longed for her to be born.
But in Your Providence you took her straight to You,
not to suffer, but to open her eyes in eternity.
Had she lived,
I would have tried to make her see
that we cannot stand by, silent, and let it be,
that defenseless little hidden ones like her
are robbed of the chance to choose,
because of humanity’s convenient “progressive” views.
It’s not their fault they’re the wrong type or kind
or even come at the wrong time.
I am not ashamed, I am not ashamed, I am not ashamed,
I can no longer keep these words contained,
I am not ashamed
of speaking truth.
Don’t you shout murder on me.
45 million per year, 45 million per year, 45 million per year
That’s 123,288 per day.
By pills, procedures and politicians,
by people who will not protect them.
And it’s for the best, it’s for their good, and after all you can just have another
But it’s not just a bunch of cells, that’s just the lies they tell you to stop you questioning what they’re doing with that tiny little beating heart.
One in five, one in five, one in five.
And their story has been hidden away,
it’s been immaterial and irrelevant.
But this is her story, his story,
this is their story
and it has been written in their blood and erased with your choices,
but it will be written in truth and spoken with courage,
for I have determination that termination will not end Your creation.
This loss and pain will not be wasted.
It was a life that was given,
and for all your autonomous self-declaration, you
do not have the right for that life to be taken.
Oh my little cherry tree,
my little Sesame,
who was rooted in my heart and blood
and blossomed in my imagination.
You were a girl or you were a boy,
that’s how you were knit together.
And I’m sorry I won’t meet you here.
I am one in four, I am one in four, I am one in four,
And with this heart of mine so sore,
I ask you to think of what you’re saying,
this is not a game we’re playing.
This is life.
This is death.”
Kirsty Ferrier (c) 2015
Reproduced with kind permission by WRITE to LIFE, SPUC Scotland’s creative initiative.