Mother’s Day (or, Open Adoption)

I used to check the mailbox every day

Looking for something with my name

Written in loose cursive, with a Georgia postage stamp

Telling me you love me

I dream of that mailbox

Barren and sad, creaky door

Erect flag, with nothing inside

I dream of ups drivers and big brown parcels, just for me

Telling me you love me

I read your letters

To the woman who raised me

My mother

I hear the pain in your hand when you ask why she doesn’t write,

When you ask if the kids are alright?

I can read between the lines she couldn’t

I’m sorry she didn’t write

I’m sorry for what was stolen from us

I’m afraid you’re dead

I looked up your name in the obituaries online

So many had died

None were your age

It’s mothers day and my dreams say I have repressed rage

I always thought it was a super power

Being able to stash it away

My dreams tell me I can’t live this way


I had a dream that you walked away from me

Your eyes slid from my face like a sliding glass door

Clicking into place

On the street in front of you

You were wearing a black baseball jacket 

With a black baseball cap

Cocked to the side in the way that you do

Always leaning, always swayin’

And there was something in your eyes

A finality

Which leaves me wondering if 

Dream has finally merged with reality.