FORGIVENESS

My vision drowned and shaky,

my voice whaling your name

I would like to think I owe you an apology.

That was the day I left you at that

homeless shelter alone On the bed as thin

as my nail, connected to a hall as long as

my dreams

I left you there, a give from a time before mine

From the woman I owe my life to,

I’m sorry I lost you.

I was no older than ten, and something strange in the air,

I left the Miss Piggy my grandmother gave me.

Back when she had no ties but her own daughter to worry about

Back when I was the only grandkid

Back when I was growing up and kicking in darkness

Circles the same walls

I did day and day for nine long months.

I’m sorry I left you.

I shouldn’t have let them take you.