A Poem by Richard D. Hartwell
Too damaged at birth to survive alone,
too innocent to euthanize anonymously;
assuming her mismanaged maternity,
the mother maintains belief in miracles.
Striking a stoical stance, the father
hopes it’s not his fault and knows
he can abandon the thing to others
to feed, bathe, change in perpetuity.
The unborn was helpless anyway,
struggling with death at a fatal
birth, will labor long towards an
end, folded in its mangled limbs.
What’s it like to know a child will
never face life’s charms and chance,
what’s it like to face a life without
parents, meaning, or possibilities?
So many orphaned disabilities
that can only writhe beneath the
monumental shame, Monsanto,
and so many left molding behind.