I used to say that my birth parents,
both dead before I could give them names,
her youthful face from yearbooks,
come to me now in my dreams.
Of course that isn’t true, they
did not come to me in my dreams
despite my hollow invitations
so I went to them, for they no longer
travel very much, preferring to stay
in their well-maintained homes.
They receive me graciously,
but are not inclined to answer
the myriad questions I ask,
responding “You know the answer
already, don’t you, and if not
listen to your genes and fill in
whatever you need to know.”