Birth Family

You were born into us.

You were who we were for just a minute.

 

A boy for my brothers, another to wrestle.

You made them tiny uncles.

 

A doll for my sister. She scrawled out times 

I contracted that Fall—she was nine.

 

And I still have the paper in her third grade writing

timing contractions from a clock that was ticking too fast. 

 

I went to the hospital with you.

After two days I left without you

since our time together was over. . .

 

because you couldn’t be ours. You were born for another.    

Beloved child, said your adoption announcement.

 

In the only photo of you and my father,

his foggy glasses slipped down his nose.

 

My mother. My mother, she held you first,

and a piece of her soul has guarded you since.

 

Six a.m., your eighteenth birthday:

I found my face in yours in a Myspace search.

And you thanked me for birthing you, though a child myself,  

and for proving we love you more than ourselves.  

 

 

Constellations, December 2012