The Irony Is Ripe
Gabriel Duncan

Blank graph paper
Blank paper

I remember being asked
"why were you adopted?"
And who my real
Mommy and daddy were

I was a gift
A present
Given for the right reasons
Given away the same

Blood is thick thean
An ammended
Birth certificate
More complex than
A given name

Now it's become an experiment
Take the boy out of the rez
Take the poverty and hunger
From his eyes and stomach
Raise him in a sand box
With a bookshelf full of toys
And an MFC
Just to see
If it's not hereditary

If relocation
And TERROR
Have not been
Preserved in
His bones

If he can sleep

Blood is thicker than
An ammended certificate of birth
More complex than
A given name

I wish you would understand
The irony is ripe

Never being able to explain it
Faced with
Abandonment
Catholic school
Public school
Lashing out at the unfamiliar
Uncaring, confusing
Contradictory
World
Around Me

Never seeing another
Who looks like me
Five out of seven
Knowing I've got three brothers
And sisters

Living with an orphan
Who was never wanted
More than my mother and father
Who love her more than
Life . . . itself
Just like me
But these are just words
Just words

I remember being told
"you're not indian enough"
by grandma Marquéz
looking at myself in the mirror
then looking at
my adoptive parents
fixating on contrast

that night
I would dream of men
With machine guns
Blades of grass
Pressing against my face
As I played possuem
While my family was murdered

I don't want to steal your
Traditions
Or
Your-
Language

Blood is thicker than
An ammended birth certificate
More complex than
A given name
I wish you would understand
The irony is ripe