I finished I Wish For You A Beautiful Life this week, coinciding with a goal to compile a chapbook of adoption-themed poems and find my mother in the next year or two. After I return to the homeland, there will likely be a follow up to this that has a radically different tone.
Dear Oma (Attempt #3)
I read your letter--or what I think, hope was your letter.
I forgive you.
Please forgive me.
Our nine months together impacted, scarred us
physically and in ways we’re still learning.
Forgive me that I only know you as Oma.
Some day, without translation, I’ll tell you
you didn’t need to worry; I turned out okay,
it all worked out okay,
I think of you a lot and am
I haven’t wanted for mothers, for love.
Lately, I haven’t wanted for God--but that’s another story.
Oma, forgive me;
Like a ship into the ocean, you wished safe passage and Faith for me,
I only delivered one of these.
But maybe we can call it even.
Maybe we can accept fault in what we build up most,
bring the unattainable that much closer.
Language will matter less,
culture will matter less,
you and I will matter less, Oma.
With love, always,