orphan children.

parenting is above my pay grade and
mother is a crown too carelessly bestowed.
most days i am
too scattered and too selfish
too depressed and too distracted
too bruised and too broken
to have anything
to give.

too lost and too lethargic
too frenetic and too afraid
who decided that this
(that i)
was a good plan
anyway?

my best addition seeks
the hopeful sum of
doing by them better than
by me was done
but how do you give
what you still do not have?
​
just the sins of the beggar and
the scapegoat calf.
something for nothing in
this sacred exchange where
the best of intentions must
kindle the flame of
the passionate has-been, this
failure to thrive
let something from the nothing of
these ashes rise.

what if they deserve better than me
what if their loss is because of me
who decided that i was ready for
this responsibility?
what do i tell the thirsty child and
tomorrow’s seed of chance when
the truth is convoluted and
the water is polluted because of
mother’s filthy hands.

this parenting is above
my pay grade and
this mothering crown sits
mistakenly crooked on my
downcast head.
from where shall redemption come?

i have more questions than
answers, but surely the sovereign hand
has a sovereign plan for
we, his orphan children.