We Do Abortions Here

What surprises me most about We Do Abortions here is the level of imagery she employs. After reading the text, I olfactory modality as if I could act on the old cliche and paint a picture of this particular abortion clinic. I brush off bye in the locked glass door and see the receptionist look at my bag skeptically. In the wait room, I see and hear the dysfunctional mother, or girl with maternal benignity, yelling at her kids in the waiting room.I can see the fear the womans face as the ignorant, hot-headed father lambasts her from the adjacent chair. I feel the cold of the metal stirrups. I hear the whirring, churning, thumping of the machine. I watch the swollen abdomen sink as the doctor moves the tube with an efficient rhythm, an intent expression on his face. I can sense the emotion of the girl whose hand I hold with one hand as I feel the tissue and contents drain into the basin I hold with the other.I see their shakily utilize eyeliner smear when they cry that sharp, ch ildish cry. After the dirty work is over, I see the curdlike blood clots and unmistakable arm swimming beside a hand. As it is dumped down the drain, the odor of something rich and humid, hot, earthy, and moldering fills my nostrils and hits me in the stomach. I feel like I could walk out the doors of this building with a paycheck, yet there would be a piece of me that would feel morally bankrupt for what I did in the place where They Do Abortions.