Edith Romero

Home 9 Resist and persist 9 Unbreakable threads 9 Edith Romero

Three Honduran women

Edith Romero is a cuir Honduran organizer, writer and researcher at the intersection of immigrant rights and reproductive justice. A Public Voices fellow with The OpEd Project, she’s shared her abortion story in Le Monde, Al Jazeera and other outlets to spark urgent dialogue on stigma, language access and care. Her poem, Three Honduran women, honors the chosen family and immigrant community who stood by her when healthcare systems and biological ties failed.

A woman with long brown hair and a nose ring smiles slightly while standing in front of a bush with white flowers. She is wearing a striped sleeveless top and has a colorful fruit tattoo on her arm.

Three Honduran women

I met three Honduran women
When I had my abortion
I translated every word, procedure,
aftercare, the risks, the medications
while I waited for mine

More than 300,000 Hondurans
Call New Orleans their hogar
Bananas, Katrina, U.S.-sponsored coups
Honduran labor built
Our Crescent City
But not a word
en Español
From the single
Abortion clinic

I trembled in the freezing AC
While I was told
The story of that girl
The sex worker back home
In Roatan, she was denied pain meds
by the cruel doctors
Apparently, it wasn’t her first time
We were lucky to be there
Our lives not currently in danger
But I bled through the weekend
And I had a nightmare about mi papa
Shaming me—
“Oh hija, what have you done?”

I met three Honduran women
I paid for one’s consultation
She didn’t know this was the process
A Google search brought her to these front steps
“Aborto en New Orleans”
She had no clue
This fundamental need
Could possibly be met
Back home, it is hushed
Back alleys, black market
Unmarked pills with unknown contents
She had a 20-year-old daughter
Who she hid it from
“She wouldn’t understand”

And I had them
But I also had you
Mi amiga
You drove me and made sure I was safe
Through the angry Jesus mob I went
And you came back again
To sign on sheets of documents
A prerequisite, during surgery,
for us to be allowed pain meds
It was maybe the first time you all met,
But they needed you
And that’s all that had to be said

And you amiga
Who heard me cry through the phone—
“Que hago? Que estupida soy…”
Even miles away
Your voice carried hope

And the nurse who told me
This would only help me
Support others in this lonely place
Now it all makes sense

I met three Honduran women
Together, we were four
Whispering about abandonment, loneliness, betrayal
Partners, brothers, fathers, mothers, daughters
who vanished,
judgment flooding
their hearts
We carried each other’s secrets
We wove our shame together
In that cold, crowded room
we all helped each other carry the weight

I hope they had you
To hold you while you wept
To shelter you while you bled
We had each other
Through all the pain
but never regret

That I will never forget