So long it's been since I felt the same hands
upon my soul for longer than two moons:
passed from bedroom to cottage and no one
to squeeze me to her heart in love's breathless hug.
Many things I hear but do not understand,
like 'non-parent' and 'placement' and, most painful,
though I have no idea why, 'crack-head mom'
reopens a hollow in my gut that never will be filled.
I come and go near babies mahing and dahing
while I lay quietly barely turning my head,
not held long save to change soiled clothes;
would such simple act cleanse this stain called me.
