Baby Duppy (An abortion poem or a response to Beloved)

Donna M. Weir

There are no women screaming in this silence
only the ghost-hot breath of baby duppies
soucoyants, my lover calls them
they shed their skins
take on the cover of night air
heavy with breathing
throbbing with the scent
of fresh blood
fire burns without flame
chairs descend the staircase
and little un-named furies stalk
the kitchen walls
doing cartwheels
Baby duppies are the baddest
my Mama tells me
worse than rolling calf
meaner than Indian duppy
facety and unforgiving
dem come back with a vengeance
their blood congeals
in mothers’ throats
cutting off air
like fly in her soup
they care not where they land
betrayed of breath of life
they know no context for
Beloved
Mothers send a message beyond
the cold clay
“it is not that I did not want you
I was doing what I felt was right”
it falls into the void
falls on deaf, unformed ears
they keep on coming
coming back
in dreams
in reflections in the mirror
in the whisper of the wind
in the faces of the children
we allow to taste
the air.

Copyright © Donna M. Weir