Monday, February 1, 2010


A birthday arrives, with it

A trumpeting demand to

“Open that door” to a hollow

Space in the corner of my mind.

It beckons me to travel back

Through a mist of yesterdays,

The questions erupting with

A spiritless conventionality,

With the arrogance and fear

To ignore unwanted answers.

Who was my birth mother?

Is she still alive, and if so,

Does she remember the pain?

Or the miracle of a new life?

Does she wonder, or care

Who I am?

Has the time come-or gone,

To reach out to that baby? The one

She held for only a moment,

So long ago? Is that her crucible?

Will she fail it, again? Do I want

To know the answers, today? Ever?

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