And the last poem that I'm going to read to you
is a short little poem called "The Ballad of Jane Roe."
And I was working on it for the last few weeks,
and it was this long, narrative jumble.
I was reading her very conflicted autobiographies
and just wondering how I was going
to put all the pieces of this story, her story, together,
and writing this terrible poem.
And then she died, you know Norma McCorvey,
who talking about--
who we know as Jane Roe, and she died about a week
and a half ago.
And just, as I was working on this poem and really
surprised me, and I was sad, and I sat down
and I wrote this paragraph.
So that poem is gone, and this is "The Ballad of Jane Roe."
I am a woman.
I am not the law.
I'm a woman.
I am not the law.
I'm a woman.
I am a woman, a child.
I'm not the law.
I wanted a woman, a child.
I wanted a child.
A child.
I wanted a child, a woman.
I wasn't a woman.
I wanted.
I wasn't.
I wasn't wanted.
I was a woman.
I was the law.
No, not the law.
A child.
I am not the law.
I am not, not, not, not wanted.
I wasn't.
I wasn't wanted.
I wasn't wanting.
I wasn't wanting a child.
I am a woman.
I am not the law.
I am not not the law.
I am child.
I am woman.
I am a woman.
I am, not the law.
Not the law.
Thank you very much.