Three crows over my left shoulder,
debarked me on an unknown shore,
the land looked the same as did the people on it,
what changed was how I there stood.
I learned for once what want truly was,
my infant stomach ached from what couldn’t sustain,
no encouragement, no prize, no attention just bleak,
no parental hang to chide or to hold,
or voice to call if stayed out at night.
no surprise, gift or party for me,
no questions about what I wanted to do.
I had to fend and survive alone,
no one came to put a plate before me,
walking in the rain as no way to return,
fighting for younger siblings thought prey
forcing out my own blightful memories,
while barely held by the loosest social net,
cracks so wide and falls so deep,
every small kindness lit up my face,
unexpected and needed momentary relief,
distant holidays, studies, activities and such,
total fantasy seen on our rusty TV set.

When those tides caught up to the age when I left,
I leaned and looked at my pre-voyage self,
one opportunity laden in satiate sloth,
the newer fearful yet value was felt,
despite what little of any of it about.
both fail and flounder, beholden to fate.
Four decades in and those children still drive,
guilt humbles to see what little I made,
of all that advantage heaped back then.
The saga was raised to expect such support,
then vanish and left like spartan birth,
no conditioning – but all softness and weak.
Kneeling and supplication to those,
Who had not any of this support
Whose being were grown callous just to get by
Step past scar tissue and seek to soften inside.