She wakes to wonder…

…

These days when she wakes,

she lays … lays- still –

for a moment,

then another moment..

Then she —

listens and wonders..

She often wonders,

in mumbled whispers….

Her thoughts peek out in utterances;

“Where could they be? ..

Where are they? …

Who are they? …

When might they come by?

Don’t they want to see me?….

Why…. ?… hmmmmmmmuuummmmmmmmhmmmmm~..”

Then she drifts to other distracting thoughts, before fading back….

back to the inevitable questions, the questions of right now;

… “how did they just, just leave their child? How does a parent leave their daughter?

Did they think I’d be cared for … … …–

— – …. with the state?…

……….. with this state??

In – This- State?!!?

…… how can a state -ever love me??

Will someone … …..

Will anyone—-

ever ….

…… actually want to adopt me????

….. hmmmmmm…. ooohhhhh……

if –

they-

don’t come get me?’… ”

She recently learned that ‘if’ is a conditional phrase. This recollection will make her English teacher happy. He liked when she paid attention to his lessons.

“God…”, she says quietly but still loud enough to audibly hear, causing her bunk mate to look up with a semblance of curiosity. “God, can you hear me? … God??? Do you listen to my thoughts?”

Her tone is saccharine, bleached in a melancholic whining voice. It was a sentiment that laced many of her thoughts.

These thoughts layered upon other thoughts, along with prayers and various considerations that have so often hurried about in her head space like directionless mice. It was in this morning time she found the space where her memories so often jumped around..

Her attention and focus jumped about, she wanted to calm it down. She sought out images of her mom and coveted these thoughts above the quagmire of vague recollections of family members that clumsily continued to dance about in her head.

These thoughts fed feelings that poured into her as she rubbed across her waking eyes and massaged her temples with the palms of her calloused hands. Her hands are nearly as rough as the course of her life has been, from before the day she was birthed.

Her hands are her proof that she has endured. These hands tell her every waking day that she can continue to endure, nothing can stop her ability to persevere.

She thinks aloud again, “…hmmmmm..”, then she audibly mumbles, “isn’t it enough?”

All of it felt so extremely unsettling. It’s been a series of moments that made her dig, question, fight, run, …

move and finally…

Finally, an ongoing quest to survive is what she has committed herself to.

She has survived…

unrelenting, tiring but never giving in to the temptation that called on some of her peers.

… she is … …. a true survivor. .. she is a warrior…

… After all, she is alive and fighting with both hands, both feet, knees, even teeth when needed;

she will survive.

She wakes unsettled, feeling uneasy and often distraught but she knows better than to allow these emotions the space or enough air to mature and find their way to calcification. She knows better than to allow enough breath to reach these thoughts as she just can’t let them find the surface.

These thoughts hurt… they are a monstrous garden that doesn’t need any more oxygen.

If her eyes begin to water or redden she’ll no doubt be interrogated with less care than she would certainly be hoping for.

She needs to find empathy, she desires care and to be cared for gently.

The interrogations come with a harshness. The types of questions and prodding that begin to transpire are offered up with far less sensitivity, less humanity and less care than is absolutely required when these emotions are flaring up. Her inner sadness is rising, it begs only to find a tender sympathy.

She knows to remove herself entirely when such raw material pain is flaring up.

Today she wakes to wonder, soon as her eyes start to squint, she is immediately conscious of her surroundings..

The sounds of linoleum flooring when they meet plastic shower-slippers pains her on this specific Wednesday. Again she brushes her eyes, now it is just past 6AM. Now she looks up toward the cracked window and leans toward the sounds of young chirping Robbins perched atop firm branches that lightly sway outside.

She listens to the layers of sounds until she hears her own voice wail out, echoing in to the morning air.

“Oooohhhhhhh….”, she sighs, this exhale is audible to Sarah bunking just above.

….”ohhhhhhh, my, my, my…. Hmmmm….”

She then retreats inward and reflects some more while sitting up; legs slovenly hanging over the mattress’ edge.

She becomes aware that this- ….

This……..

… this …

… this is..

This is now …

Although she knows that more is out there, she is -not- ………..

out — there.

She wonders if that. … that which is out there, if that… that imagined paradise of frolicking families is where love is …

She mumbles…

…iterates in a solemn but hopeful drawl;

..”..Is love- ..ee..?? Is there love?? ”

She is now a bit less coherent, slightly foggy with such meandering thoughts, thoughts of love… what it means… and the outside world ..

And family….

……. And…

that this …

Is now her life, somehow her fate was made and she just wakes to watch it …

She is here – now, she is ..

.. Here.