A terrible injustice has occurred in the UK. If it had happened in Russia or Iran, we'd be enraged and shocked. A woman has terminated her pregnancy (very late) by her own hand, and buried the dead foetus. The judge and law call this a baby, and have jailed her for 8 years. The judge is a Christian fanatic, as it turns out, opposed to abortion laws as they now stand. As a Catholic, I know what I am supposed to think, but as a rational and tolerant human I know what I believe - no man (or other person) can tell a woman what to do with her womb; Sarah Catt may have done something sad, unfortunate, even borderline troubling. Wrong, unethical - debatable. But criminal? No. This person is a political prisoner, imprisoned by a fanatical Christian patriarchy, and she should and must be freed. In a week that bristles with rage at MP's shouting at police officers, let us spare some sympathy for Ms. Catt, who has been slapped with the law's worst insult: contempt.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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