All the Things that Felt Given

Mom and me, 1966.

All the things that felt given
were possibly not.
Taken?
Did I take too much?

Poured out from the belly of
a far too young mom,
married only to escape the 
chaos of her home,

We knew poverty.
Even with Dad, but
struggle was the only known.
That, and survival.

But the poverty was not
just in money, but in fathers.

Each abandoned the 
feminine of us, leaving 
behind broken hearts,
broken homes and 
more survival.

Thankfully, Mom landed
in the mailing room of
buddy Silicon Valley.
Times were against 
young, single moms,
but not her tenacity.

Yet the woundedness from
her own childhood trauma -
parental kidnapping, 
abandonment, orphanages,
foster homes and, when
there was no more room
and age betrayed her,
juvinelle hall and even a
mental hospital - encapsulated
her heart for preservation.

It was only meant for me,
her one adored child.

But relationships were not
so fortunate.
For her and her sisters - 
also teen moms.

We were a pod of
doing-our-bests, within
the matriarchal arms 
of my determined mom;
oldest, wisest and - 
in her eyes - absolutely
responsible for all.

Our home a haven for
children and moms in need.

What was given?
I can't see given.

But I still had a vision
of better, of family,
of fairytale, I suppose.

But I only knew abandonment
and dysfunction, so what
I found matched the
woundedness
of my story.

Who was I to have a love 
each wanted but only
arrived as pain?

Was I waiting for the gift
of a foundation that had
not been walked? Or 
did I have to build it?
With what?

I had to rearrange the
fencing around my heart,
face the patterning 
I inherited.

So perhaps that's what was 
given? The vision to see,
to heal, and to allow love in?
Or did I take opportunities
that challenged me to grow?

I still wish for given, still
hope and hold my arms 
wide open for given.
As I often wonder if 
taking is an old pattern of
​survival, still waiting to heal.

Inspired from a line in a poem by Afaa Michael Weaver: "all the things that felt given"

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