The Silent Scream

 

A minute ticks by.

I hope it’s negative.

Another minute.

What if it’s positive?

What will I do?

Minute three gone.

It’s positive.

I’m too young for this.

I can’t tell my parents.

Days pass.

There’s a place I can go.

They won’t ask my age.

They won’t tell a soul.

They ask if I’m sure.

I am.

“Good,” they say,

Telling me that this

Will answer all my problems.

This is best for me.

This is best for everybody.

There are no alternatives, they tell me.

They take me to a room,

Tell me to get comfortable.

“Put on this gown,

The doctor will be in soon.”

I do as they say.

The doctor arrives,

Has me lay down.

He starts the ultrasound

To see and hear,

To do the job faster.

He slides the tongs in,

Grasps the head,

Squeezes.

I hear a scream of pain.

The baby was alive?

While he’s not looking,

I watch the  doctor

Scramble the baby like eggs,

Then suck it out

With a vacuum.

The procedure is over.

I go home, try to sleep.

But the baby screams in my dreams.