Say
if you have a child who is lost for seventeen years
if you lose a word
if you never see her shape
and if she has been a war-torn child
who has shattered to stay alive
and if she has hidden parts
she doesn’t always know
and if you do not know
but she has a child
and another
and you barely know more
until a policeman
until a lawyer
until a social worker
and her voice
when an apartment
when a mattress on a shelter floor
when a bed on the fourth floor
and she gives her things away
So
she wears flipflops in winter,
she has your sister’s voice
and a well of loneliness like your mother’s
and a giggle like her own
She calls you Faith
She calls you Bio Mom
She calls you Mom
you walk her street with pavement cracks and hidden maps,
eat her burrito and saag paneer,
buy her children ukeles,
bring leftover fried rice to
the man on the steps of the SRO
which is her home.
For now.
Beautiful, moving.
Loved the poem Faith.