I have this math-

Ematical conversation with

You in my head

I know you don’t believe in God, but do you…believe 

In oxygen?

Seeping as it does

Into the fiber of your being

Take a breath

Tell me

What will you  do

On the last day, the very last moment


 organic grace?

You should know

that you are loved.

Surely they must have loved you

To have acquired you
that way

I tell myself you must have been precious

Jewel heist precious

Only your mother had no insurance

No private investigator to find you

when she lost you she lost you indeed
every milestone, every turn of hope

When you were stolen she lost
trust in

.. the judge, the lawyer, the case worker, the adoption liar

Who should have all said no

This was never my job

To help rich people steal babies from the poor


Cartoon Clouds

i see them on the most pedestrian


Cartoon clouds!

So different than their fancy-assed Latinate cousins

Cartoon clouds loft 

And float

Resembling nothing so much as cotton candy..or bunnies

I do my best to capture them in my memory

I cast my gaze about the sky

For the Inevitable Cartoonist

Who would squander such casual splendor

On us.

Little One

the year I lost you

I made rules

No pride

Do anything…legal

(So running to Canada was out)

Believe God is big enough.
I found your mother through the ghost of a house burned to the ground

I remember how normal 

Her bathroom was–soap, shampoo, hairbrush…

No signs of the cosmic upheaval they want us all to believe 

Your beautiful mother
Sat on the futon next to you as I memorized how right you looked together

With your baby pink phone repeating may I help you?

In her metallic voice Asian?

There is a picture somewhere in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Of a man you once knew

Ultimate grief

Is a synonym for all the lies they told us

… 17 years to say, I love you

Rapunzel girls, women now.

Know your true names

Your true history has always been

Beloved, Little Ones

Happy birthday.  I love you
Sept. 6 1997