Vespers
after a promise by Staceyann Chin
Because I don’t
have to anymore,
I pray for you
who never had to
be—& wonder
what god might
damn that girl
to labor through
another man’s
command to
create anything
but herself.
Who’s to say
what might
have arrived
instead of me?
Holy is what
happens when
there’s nothing
between your belief
& what you do.
Holy is the savior
I was taught
would come
eventually, but
looking back
was you. Blessed
be that parking lot—
its early, empty
peace—& blessed
be the ring of keys
who made her
rounds & kept
you feeling safe.
Blessed be
the woman I
would meet
& not have to
become; praises
for this sleeping
child we chose
& what new mercies
time divulged: nurse
at your shoulder,
doctor at your
feet: then’s only,
holy trinity
that made this
life complete.
Copyright © 2021 by Meg Day. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 16, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.
“I drafted this poem as Texas was implementing its current (as of this writing) and near-total ban on abortions, which includes incentives for private citizens to enforce the law themselves by pursuing legal action against others. My immediate circles were abuzz with organized responses and fundraising, but also with conflict around language. It’s my feeling that gender, and its many names, often distracts us from mobilizing against the true culprit causing harm. Power tends to work this way, pitting kin against kin to keep its hands clean. Vespers, for me, have long moved out of the twilight liturgy and into the realm of the bedtime prayer: private, reflective, grateful. It’s a tradition that welcomes us back to our core convictions and, for me, to our shared fight forward: safe, legal, and gender-affirming abortion that is accessible to all people, everywhere.”
—Meg Day
Meg Day
Meg Day grew up in California’s Bay Area and received a BA from the University of California, San Diego, an MFA from Mills College, and a PhD from the University of Utah, where Day was a Steffensen-Cannon Fellow and poetry editor for Quarterly West.