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at best, but if I reach way,
way back, I can almost see
the lady judge, perched
like an eagle, way high above
little me. I think she was
sniffing. Crying, maybe?
Her voice was gentle. I want
to thank you, Mr. and Mrs.
Haskins, for loving this child
as he deserves to be loved.
Please accept this small gift,
which represents that love.
I don’t really remember all
those words, but Mom repeats
them sometimes, usually
when she stares at the crystal
heart, catching morning sun
through the kitchen window.
That part of Kristina’s story
always makes Mom sad.
Here’s a little more of the tale.
Chapter One
It started with a court-ordered
summer visit to Kristina’s
druggie dad. Genetically,
that makes him my grandfather,
not that he takes much interest
in the role. Supposedly he stopped
by once or twice when I was still
bopping around in diapers.
