To: The unknown mother From: The son unknown

My true life view of being adopted


2. When she has gone

My mother’s hands don’t exist anymore

They rest as ashes at the bottom of the sea

When I last held them they were

As boney as a ravens foot

As cold as a fish from the depths where they lie


On those cold winter gloveless days

I can recreate the feel of her hands

Which shocks me everytime and I realise

That I will never hold them again

That it almost seems as though they never were  

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