I’m only three, But I know who you are. 
You’re old smile’s contagious, Curved and beautiful.
I smiled and run toward to you, My tiny arms outstretched.
You hold me to your chest, And kiss my curly blonde head.
War has not treated you well, The Flying Tigers has made you frail, 
You’re body is melted, Old and tired with knobby rickety knees.
I climb up onto your lap, on the frog covered bed, 
You gently curve the corners of your mouth,
Not like you used to, but close enough.
You like the green color of my shirt And say how beautiful I am. 
You grab my hand And point to my mom
“Smile!” She says. A flash appears, and then it’s gone. 
The last time I saw you, captured.


Sitting in the blue armchair,
on my dad's denim covered knee
his eyes crinkle in the corners
As he tells me I'm adopted.
Adoption is a frustrating word, 
that comes with mystery and confusion,
It makes me question myself,
As I ask who I am.
I know I’m from Coeur d’ Alene, 
A city full of potatoes.
But I live in Pittsburgh,
A city full of pride.
Another question always lingers: 
Should I meet my birth parents?
I grow tired of that question,
Because there is no good answer.
I don’t want to be disappointed, 
besides, I’m happy where I am.
I like my parents,
My family and my friends.
And I like that I'm different,
A word I've adopted.