In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dear Mom.”
Oh mother you’re a mystery, so many things kept hidden,
Stories of the early years have all but been rewritten.
I have no information of your mother or your father,
And ever time I’ve asked for some you’ve told me not to bother.
Conversations that we share are shallow, my questions overridden,
It pains me that my right to know has somehow been forbidden.
You’ll take your secrets to the grave, I’ve no one else to ask.
What shame could be so great ? If it’s pain that you so mask,
Remember it seeps through to us who carry on from you.
So tell us all who are the ghosts that linger in our queue.
I doubt you would suppress the names of donors to our genes
If they were Royal blue bloods and Officers or Queens.
And so the greatest sadness that surfaces for me.
No matter how I wish it, there is no family tree.