To the lovely biological parents of my brother,

Who dropped him off at age five to die

At a subway station in China:

 

That day, you closed your eyes, locked your heart,

And covered your ears.

Because you will never see the scars you left on his head,

(or did the orphanage do that?)

The ones we discovered after his first haircut with us.

You will never feel your stomach filll with dread,

When he tells of his past again and again.

(always remembers the three days without a meal)

You will never hears his cries when he tries

Once again to change his life.

You will never see the bruises from the fights.

Because who was there to teach him?

You will never feel the frustration of discipline,

Teaching rules to a child who has been living the rules of survival.

(for ten years)

The raw instinct of protection,

A boy who lived his life only trusting two things: himself and the idea of God.

You will never hear my parents' heavy breathing

As they try to protect him from himself.

(that's what real parents do)

 

But I bet eyes were wide open,

When you tossed him in that ocean,

(the cold ocean of abandonment)

And shackled him to an anchor leading to his coffin,

An anchor he doesn't have the strength or motivation to move.

A shackle that only you have the key to,

The key that is now rusted over.

 

You left my family in charge of heavy storm clouds,

Ready to rain and thunder and rage at any given moment,

And we sit in the aftermath wondering,

"What goes on in that brain of his?"

 

But there are days when I feel sorry for you.

Because you will never get to see him grow.

How he loves to ride his bike in the summer time.

You will never hear his laugh,

You will never feel his hugs,

You will never get his love,

You will never buy him his favorite hot sauce,

You will never see him read,

You will never see his eyes light up at a new snowboard,

You will never see him succeed,

You will never get a card with jagged handwriting

that says "I love you, Mom."

 

You took a pair of scissors,

And like a girl to prom pictures with an ex, you snipped him out.

You tore him up and threw him away.

And people tried to put him back together but he was never the same.

The tape is old and peeling and the picture is crumpled.

 

And I'm not saying this for fame,

But because I want it to be loud enough,

To be bright enough

To be touching enough

That even your plugged ears and blind eyes and ice hearts

Will listen.

 

Sincerely,

The sister of a healing boy.