An Abortion Clinic Escort’s Dolores Umbridge
Traffic clamors
up Engle Street.
She arrives in her sparkly white
Mercedes Benz convertible
parks across the street from the clinic.
From the trunk, she retrieves
her toolkit: a canvas fanny-pack stuffed
with strings of cheap blue rosary beads
plastic fetus dolls
pamphlets for Rachel’s Vineyard.
She is doing God’s work
chasing patients
from their cars to the door
her voice gossamer
over my shoulder
as I escort a patient
tangled in a web of self-doubt
her scurrying alongside
shoving beads
shoving dolls
shoving pamphlets
Moms deserve love and support, not abortion!
When I take the patient’s shaking hand
her skin is cold.
So is mine.
The sidewalk is uneven.
Once the clinic door closes
I turn and meet her face
small upturned nose
shell-pink lips
the soft lines of her cheeks
a kindness that collects--
I’d rather the screamers
with their filth and vitriol
the prating about sinners and Jesus
the taunts over Margaret Sanger
the posters of mutilated bodies and blood
at least I know what I’m getting.
She is doing God’s work
chasing patients
from the door to their cars
her voice honey
over my shoulder
as I escort a patient
limbs heavy
her scurrying behind
offering support
offering prayer
offering forgiveness
God loves you, and He can help you!
When I take the patient’s trembling hand
a moan rumbles deep in her throat.
My gut quakes.
The tree hangs too low.
Across the street from the clinic
into the trunk of her sparkly white
Mercedes Benz convertible
she stuffs her toolkit
covers the blue rosary beads
plastic fetus dolls
pamphlets
with a wide-brimmed sun hat.
The engine purrs
down the one-way street.
Christine Taylor, a multiracial English teacher and librarian, resides in her hometown Plainfield, New Jersey. She is the EIC of Kissing Dynamite: A Journal of Poetry. Her work appears in Modern Haiku, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Room, and The Rumpus among others. She can be found at www.christinetayloronline.com. Follow her on Twitter @cetaylorplfd.
