Often word weight is too much.
In the telling it is over skimmed
till gradually the meaning of such
fades, the sentence neatly primmed.
Of the myriad ways to convey hate,
embarrassment, or official fear,
the appalling, ill-used ‘illegitimate’
slanders little children here.
That a human life can somehow be
‘not in accordance with the law’.
That babes born outside matrimony
be not treated with love and awe
is damnable to Hell or other place
where all hope is vanished.
For hope avoids a mother’s face
when from her her child is banished.
What saint or scholar deemed it fit
these infants to be bound in rules?
That made them wait in half lit
lines in segregated holy schools?
The unwed mother carries all,
from womb and on into the world.
Scorn and family shame does fall
on her and what abuse is hurled
by those walking quickly past
high stone walls and laundries.
No wash of water came unfast
the dirt of guilt’s quandaries.
Scattered to the wind like leaves,
divided by some scalpel pen,
two parts of one who grieves
and never sees that face again.
The fingers of our new born son
wrap around our hearts and souls.
Legitimate every single one
above decayed scribes and scrolls.