When “parents” became “mom,”
the absence was cemented.

I faulted myself.
As if every time I wished you 
away in anger,
it actually happened.

As if when I saw your call,
and decided to call you back,
I pushed you away,
until later was too late

I graduated high school,
started college,
started a new decade of life.

Each milestone a reminder of the milestones 
you’d continue to miss:
Another graduation I’d only need 1/2 tickets for.
Another decade 
Another

Nights like deserts,
expanses in which I paced,
uncertain of this life.

Days like leftovers,
spent longing
for any life other than my own.

But God,
You saw me.
In my
bitter
black coffee anger
Morning tears and 
emptied evenings.

You lifted the bricks of grief from my 
backpack of shame
carrying them in your own hands.
You showed me a new family portrait.
One where I was,
brought into your parenthood,
family,
kingdom.