The word "abortion"
dropped off her tongue
like a pin
into the rustle of papers and trivialities
so important
that they were shouted to one another
from across the classroom.
There was nothing to say.
There was nothing to say.
We sat in the corner,
solemn white paper cut-outs
with too much to think about,
taking notes
on embryo's
(of all things).
Damn Biology class,
we talked about the line
where, when crossed
became murder.
I remembered last year,
when her voice stripped down
the layers between life
and death,
tattooed "murder"
in red ink
to any form of escape,
and knew in her mind
there was no line.
She was
O.K, she said.
The worst was psychology,
when he told them
that a fetus
dreams.