I bought a mobile for you three months in.

Musical, Winnie-the-Pooh.

I bought it surreptitiously,

already hearing voices.

They reminded me about myself.

"You said you never wanted to be a mother.

We made note of it, back in 1992."

I tried to sing and not to hear.

I looked at our bright toy.

But all the forces of the world seemed to conspire

to leave us no hook on which to hang it.

The loudest voice said I wasn't enough,

that me plus a bio-father fled to El Salvador

did not equal a child's happiness.

(I was always bad at math.)

I said well what if I paint the corner

of my room

in colors?

Almost a nursery?

What if I give this baby a name

(I've picked two, you know, thanks for asking).

What if I allow myself to feel love?

I have this yellow snuggly, see...

I got it without knowing why.

These tiny pajamas with feet.

Surely that proves something.

The very universe had a laugh.

The answer it gave me was no.

"This baby can't live on books

and ideas won't pay for daycare.

This baby wants a Mom who smiles with her heart

and does not see in grays."

From there it was accomplished

but they watched me just in case.

"We caught you reading Dr. Suess that night

Just who do you think you are?

We made you that sick so you'd detach...

and you dare read rhymes?"

(You should know that I only did that once. Five months and I began to see their point.)

They were there at the hospital too.

To make sure I delivered.

"We should have known you'd try to sneak

your breast into his mouth.

A close call, that."

But exasperation turned to relief at my surrender.

An adoption, just in time.