Foster Boy

Cherry

By Richard L. Provencher

Wed, 27 Mar 2013
  • 1555 reads
3 comments
 

You did the best with the least
interest in your well-being
money for your keep
the common denominator
as you fear-stepped
from one set of personalities
to the other---foster child
of the sub-zero class
foster home to foster home
and you survived the last
where the strap and the slap
became a fist against your heart.

You did the best with the guts
within your thin frame
into the fire of Juvenile Court
to group homes and the
cells of Springhill and Westmorland
where men eyed little fellows
with doe eyes and blond
features. And you grew hard with
rage unleashed like a whip
snaking out and cutting deep
in the skin of your critics.
Do not harden your heart to the
love that surrounds. This is
an end of the line story. We
adopted you into the DNA of
our lives. And you accepted.

© Richard L. Provencher

Certificate PG
Poetry - For All Reasons
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
Thank you Tony, and the ABC team, for the cherries. This poem is in honour of our son, who joined our family at the age of 9; he's 45 now. For the last seventeen years we had no contact---he was out there in the world, and he phoned us, his mom and dad last September, with many phone calls and letters back and forth since then. Scott will be coming to visit us this summer from British Columbia. We told him we still loved him. Richard and Esther. ps it was another home he was in that was rough on him. He had four foster homes and three adoption break-down homes---that is where a family says we want to adopt you, which is confirmed or not during a six-month trial adoption period, and three broke down. We were the fourth and he lived with us until he was 18, then lost track of him when he was 28.
Richard L. Provencher

Submitted by Pixie on
Beautifully expressed. Great that you will be reunited after all this time. Hope it goes well for you all!

Submitted by Richard L. Prov... on
Thank you so much, Pixie. It's like in the Bible, the wayward son is coming home. Richard
Richard L. Provencher