Transfiguration
(Dedicated to the precious women who profoundly regret their abortions)
How like this little fetus, Holy God,
You writhed, enwombed in suffocating pain,
Until sharp instruments unpumped your blood
And left your form transfigured to a stain.
How like a loving mother’s natal pine
Your prayer, encrypted as a primal groan,
Umbilical from heaven’s soul to mine,
Proved you unwilling to unpair your own.
How like a wand commanding miracles
Your hand, atwitch in death, transmuted blood
Of murder into healing pharmicals,
Coagulating evil into good.
How like one crucified, my little boy
Now makes me, sick with wellness, retch in joy.
Rolley Haggard
