Not a love poem


The child within her almost dead. Its heart
sputtered away but did not ever stop.
And as it died, its dying drop by drop
leaked poison into her. And every part

each organ started dying. Doctors said
that while the child retained a spark of life
faith had decreed they could not use a knife
to end it. Not until the child was dead

and so she died as well. She had no choice,
soon no life either. Poison in her blood
vomit and fever. And the pious good
religious doctors listened to her voice

as it grew fainter. Let her die. Our tears
for all they’ve killed just like her, all these years.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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9 Responses to Not a love poem

  1. lyonesse says:

    thanks for writing this.

    would you mind if i reposted it (attributed to you of course) to the journal of a defensive irish person of my acquaintance?

  2. laplor says:

    I would like to seek your kind permission to re-post this (attributed, of course) on Facebook.

    The whole thing upsets me terribly as well. That this horror should happen in the “first world” in the 21st century is abhorrent.

    Savita’s child was not to be, and now Savita is murdered, and any future child she would have had is effectively aborted.

  3. This is powerful and unfortunately too accurate. The condemnation of these Irish murderers needs to be disseminated as widely as possible.

  4. cmcmck says:

    Oh god yes! This!

    I have been being stratospherically angry over on mine as have many others.

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