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WHERE?
It is hard,painfully hardto realizeyour guidedoesn’t knowwhere youneed to go. And the onewho could guideyou isn’tthere, doesn’tknow youat all, hadyou whenshe couldonly place youfor adoption. So you wanderguideless,self-guided,deeper intothe unknown.
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CHEMICAL REACTION
Korean and Basque are orphan languagesalthough linguists prefer the termlanguage isolates, which soundsalmost chemical, as though somereaction resulted in a linguisticsediment, or distillate perhaps. If that is the proper term Isuppose I was a human isolate,which actually makes some sense,even after adoption, for I wouldlearn years later from mystep brother that I wasisolated from the…
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SONNET TO A PORTUGUESE
You came into my life last week, your nameforever locked away inside her mind.My life, she felt, would never be the sameand therefore left all thought of you behind.You loved her, I suppose, that summer nightthen left her, bearing me, until she turnedme over for adoption, that she mightforget the love that you so quickly…
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A LITTLE DRUMMER
It seems less than fair that as a childI was Jewish to the core, adopted, yes,but certainly fully Jewish and not merelyby maternal lineage which would suffice. Christmas was alien to me then, evenwhen I left Judaism behind, a shadowthat would follow me closely intomy Buddhist practice and life. But DNA made a liar of…
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ADOPTION
Without choice, I, evicted from the wombNot cast aside, despite what I would see,Too soon carried into an unknown room and gladly taken up, offsetting gloom,and soon another child, I becoming we.Without choice, I evicted from the womb was there to watch him fall into his tomb,leaving her with grief weighing heavily.Too soon carried into…
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TRIPTYCH
A triptych hangs in the gallery of memory. Admission is by invitation only. The first panel is a time fogged mirror into which I stare. The adopted image hides behind the tarnished silver. My adopted mother’s voice is heard from a hidden speaker: “You were named after my father.” I want to tape his picture…
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PARENTAL MOMENTS
My adoptive parents diedsix years apart, I receivedtwo announcement textsfrom the son they had together. We negotiated her obituary,and I am waiting for her funeral,but after seven years, I havegiven up hope of that happening. I did visit my birth mother’sgrave, placed a small stone on hers, watered the groundwith tears of sadness and joy at…
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HISTORY
It was easierhaving no historyof my own, borrowedhistories are easily discarded. After a while, youbegin to think of the adoptedhistory as your own,and no one doubts you. I have a history nowcountries woven into my DNA, always presentbut never before seen. It is mine, I passed italong to my sons, andalthough it grows weakerit is a…
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AND UNDER THIS ROCK
There is one thing that noneof the books on discoveringwho you are when you areadopted bother to tell you. If they did, it wouldn’t changeanything, but it is a burdenyou assumed you’d easily bearthat grows heavy with time. What they don’t warn you isthat you will discover yourself,your heritage that was deniedto you for one…
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ON LOSSES
By the way, the headstone is lovely,designed by your niece, it pays tributeto you as aunt, as sister, as friend. I do wish it had said mother as wellbut I know I’m the one secret you thoughtwould fit into a corner of the pine box,buried with you, to be, like you, reclaimedby the rocky soil…
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an old writer and his words 