THE CLOTH-BOUND BOOK

Of all the pieces of my life kept
hidden in the cloth-bound book
It is the faded map that forms
the cover and resembles no
country of which I am aware
Plus some sort of point-form
plans on the inside, faded also
and quite unfinished...
That tend to make me
question my decision to search
for my birth family...

The fact that the map is in
such a poor state as to be
almost unrecognizable
Or, the pitiful list—started
but with no attempt to
finish or to facilitate
in the least...
I'm never quite sure which
aspect saddens me more

I try to remember back to
when I first started to write
to the powers that be—
Hoping to gather any strands
of my erstwhile birth-family-
tree together
While juggling those of my
adoptive family, at the
same time
All the while wondering
if I didn't deserve
to be sent to hell for not
embracing my good fortune,
and leaving well enough alone.

It was at about this point,
when my birth mother,
having been recently re-
connected with me, and being
also very kind
Sent me the cloth-bound
book, crammed full
of pieces of my life,
Things about which I had
never expected to learn
Many of which I am still
not sure I am happy to know.