Adoption Was a Whisper
a Prose Poem
Adoption Was Whisper ~ a Prose Poem
Her mother helps her pierce the succulent stems and thread the sweet rose clover into chains, to twist and twine them into a necklace with white daisies, shaggy golden lions, dandy white wild daisies, and sweet pink clover. She's four, and doesn’t know she'll be a seeker one day. Now, she has no plans but to pick flowers, and sing, and twirl. She knows all the words. They came to her along a tune. A fragment of a tune came along to play from the brown radio on the kitchen counter. The melody came to her with words. It came out whole with her words inside. Her songs come out with a full feeling, and she sings strong and high. On her neck she feels the fragrant flowers, smells the dangling clover chain. Her love is words, and a clover chain around her neck. She sings her tune about the ones who love her. The ones she loves. Adoption was a whisper, but she knows the story in her heart, and she sings the story, and spins. And her story spins her. She spins and twirls, her brown hair, pinned back in barretts, bounces on her back in soft waves, ringlets, and curls. It falls on her shoulders in corkscrews. She is Questa. She spirals on the sunny grass, stumbles, and drops down dizzy, laughing, and gets up giddy. Around, around the white birch clumps where little pools of water collect for sparrows to sip. Her song is about her world. Questa has a song, a song that was a whisper, a song no one knows. She will be a seeker.
(C) Mary Ellen Gambutti
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