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Every Minute of Every Day

I just received an e-mail from Ms. Magazine about their 'Countdown to 2015 Campaign' The e-mail started with this sentence. "Every minute of every day, a woman or girl dies from complications of pregnancy or childbirth." This overwhelmed me.

"Every minute of every day, a woman or girl dies from complications of pregnancy or childbirth."

I pretend I am crying her tears, kneeling over her bleeding body. I pretend it's all about chance, the spinning wheel just landed on her forehead, nothing more. It has nothing to do with politics, division. Nothing to do with where we stand Or the sand I was birthed on.

But when I think about it it only makes sense. It's true. It's all about chance. Tell me how many of these women chose their fate. Really chose it. Tell me, when did I pay for my privilege, The chance to cry about things that will never quite kill me, And where's my ticket now?

9:37 9:38 9:39

I am up 'til midnight. You do the math.

9:51 9:52 9:53

Every minute a woman dies. I pretend I am holding her hand. I pretend I'm at least trying to throttle death as it moves From the doorway to her delicate throat, and all the while I'm wondering Where's my ticket now?



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