Nine months to form,
nine more to be left.
Alone with her then
     alone with myself.

She was abandoned before I arrived,
original mother and I 
linked in genesis
by shitty luck
     and feminine grit. 

I am their heir.
I bear their truth too –
     man won’t dig in under the fun.

No protection, no safety
nothing of substance to grieve 
except for this gaping man-shaped abyss
where genetic father or adopted dad
should have been the substrate,
where partners could have rooted and been welcome
had their wisdom been stronger than mine. 
but He did not and He was not. 
     They are not.  
The elusive male figure didn’t miss me,
doesn’t even know he is lost
much less needed.

A cavern under constant repair 
needing a buttress, receiving rockslides, 
I’ve used every single pebble,
stacked them into this woman you see.
Transmuting anger into grace 
where I received none, 
to make it beautiful…
     I gave up hope and hold myself steady.

This masculine love, a baby girl shouldn’t have to 
birth her survival
on her own
out of nothing
in grief and pain.
I do it every day.
I am yielding and unbreakable,
not a stone wall that crumbles where it should stand,
resilient beyond the flesh.

My adoption memoir in six words
remains the same
evergreen, ever true
in lieu of a proper Daddy: 
     I am my own indestructible demographic.