I never asked my mother
About her father.
The one who gave his DNA and
Left before she had memory.
I wonder how it felt being
Abandoned by kin,
Replaced with a second family that
Grew half-sibling strangers.
When she would see him walk down the street
In the small town they shared
Did they lock eyes, did they speak,
Did he know her?

At the age of tthree, she had a real
Father, a Daddy.
He swept her off her feet and
She fell head over heels.
On Sunday afternoons he brought her
Peanuts and read the funny papers out loud
As they sat on the front porch.
Finally, my grandmother let herself
Love him too.

She was loved completely and for the
Rest of her life she was his daughter as
Much as the siblings that followed.
They were a family – whole.

Still, did she miss the first one,
Did she forgive or forget,
Did she still hold hope for love?

I never asked.