Spare the Rod
Their body is a sealed brown envelope labelled as classified
presented to the government
at birth
a temple
of the lobbyist gods
on the altar of failed heads
lays the prey
whose prayers are a political statement
a property
belonging of your family
your pastor
your partner
this body is never yours
celebrations in order when your life is on the line
a dystopian world where everyone is playing saviour but no one is really saved
save the unborn
let the lives that bring life decline
debate our choices till we’re left with none
today,
180 people dance into the night leaving a trail of red footprints
shrieking and shrilling
the making of a melancholic musical
rigor mortis the star of the show
another uterus an experiment for unskilled hands
unhygienic
unsanitary
this placenta becomes a noose around your neck
feel the walls closing in
on the surgical table
or
the sunken pits of your bed
whispers from the ground from the ones whose rights have been violated
Lady Justice’s scales have never been balanced
a sequel to a long history of gender discrimination
society playing spectator
the laws of the land laden a child with another
a mass of gravid tissue takes precedence over a life
spare us from
the quacks
the metal rods
the coat hangers
bleach, gin, zobo, herbs
the physical trauma
the prosecutors
spare the rod, save my uterus
spare the rod
Life without choice is a caged bird with no wings
AUTHOR’s BIO:
Esther Sorkpor is a poet, culture and creative writer based in Lagos. Her writing explores love, feminism, and social justice. Her work has been featured in Medi-Phil magazine by Kb Klub, 49th Street and Lost in Lagos.
When not writing, Esther enjoys reading, comedy shows and spending time with friends.
