Earth 2/3
Affinity
Joni Mitchell sang you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, but what’s the loss when you never knew what you had?
I had no idea who my parents were, why they gave me up, what they looked like, how they felt the instant, hour, day, month, year, decade, lifetime after they gave me up. Or whether I should be bothered about it.
All around me, children would say daddy or mommy and mean it. Their sense of belonging needed no filters, no translation.
Imagine being born without skin and then, frame-by-frame, watching someone grease it on you like strips of wallpaper.
They took more notice of recall than genes back then. Keep the slate wet, so the chalk will skip, smearing the evidence. Make sure the light is bright enough to dance planets before his eyes, distracting him from any thought of litigation.
Parents are not as reliable as statues. When the swallows return, the Lost Prince has gone.
Only Child
Selfish. Every toy groomed for your attention. Attention showering down like manna.
Alone with Frieda, I used to wish for someone to share the blame. I wanted to join a cell for only children. To share naughty books, and razor wire nightmares.
Every minute an adopted child is sacrificed to the salt water to save a desperate government. Some grow gills and give up air. A few make art out of monoxide.
Send back the boats your tired your poor
Let your huddled masses drown