hey folks! this is my first time posting, and i'm actually nervous! i have a few other post ideas up my sleeve, but for now, i'd like to share a poem i've been working on as i've grappled with george tiller's assassination and the aftermath in the last week. i'm a spoken word artist, so this is meant to be performed, but hopefully you'll still get something out of just reading it. the first and last stanzas are sung.
providers’ grace
[amazing grace, how sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
i once was lost, but now am found
was blind but now i see.]
i see a sunny sunday morning in wichita kansas
a mild-mannered man in a suit and tie
hands out programs as his friends and family file into church
this could be any sunday
any church
any man, really,
save for his life’s work and the bullet-proof vest he’s worn for the past 11 years
the flak jacket that in the end couldn’t protect him
from the bullet to the head
delivered on the threshold of his place of worship
returning home in 1970 to close his father’s practice,
he received a call
a plea
asking if he was going to continue doing what his daddy did
what his daddy did was illegal in those pre roe v wade days
but he took that call as a calling
and stayed
“why do you do it?” they asked
why subject yourself to the threats, the bombs, the attempts on your life?
his reply? “i’m just doing what my patients need.”
he trusted women before the US government deigned to,
had the slogan emblazoned on buttons
took penniless patients from across the country
who had nowhere else to go.
both george tiller and his murderer have been hailed as heroes
which tells you something of the divide
i am not one to take up arguments with extremist zealots;
have known the futility of arguing with a brick wall firm in its fundamentalist beliefs,
and have no aim to break down that wall by violent means.
still, i am at a loss for peaceful words
when operation rescue’s founder
states publicly that george tiller “reaped what he sowed,”
when wiley drake, claiming tiller’s “atrocities” were far greater than hitler’s, rejoices his death,
when operation rescue debates the merits of buying tiller’s closed-down clinic.
call it domestic terrorism or heroism,
call him killer or savior
call it anti or pro,
doctor george tiller is still gone.
close your eyes
picture your walk into work each day
now imagine having to do it with a bullet-proof-vested escort at your side
imagine having your workplace bombed
imagine being yelled at, sworn at, shot at as you respond to your life’s call
would you have the courage to show up again?
one more life lost, another reason found
to stand and speak the words of thanks
so long unuttered
to those who have saved so many of the wretched
how bittersweet the sound of a thousand heads bowed in silence
to grace the man they called a saint
so my heart and eyes swell now in gratitude
for the women brave enough to tell their stories
and the friend who trusted me with hers;
for the pro-choicers who fight for our fundamental rights;
for the pro-lifers who condemn violence as a form of protest;
for the escorts who accompany the providers and the provided for
from hostile street to safe haven;
and for the providers
who compassionately lay their lives on the line
for the women they trust to decide for themselves:
thank you.
[through many dangers, toils, and snares,
we have already come
‘twas grace that brought us safe thus far
and grace will lead him home.]
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Thanks for sharing your memorial of Dr. Tiller. I hope you can post a video of it as the performance piece its meant to be if ever you're ready to do that. As I read it, I was imagining the combination of song and spoken word, but I doubt my imagination does it justice. I'm always shaken and amazed by the power of spoken word poetry, especially when the subject it touches is so important to me. Thanks.
This is beautiful. Thank you.