You were two days into the world when we stole
you away. The white haired nurse
placed you in my arms and whispered
"Take her before her mother sees her."
I drove so slowly you'd have thought
I was carrying fragile china that might break
if I made one wrong turn.
In the years that flew by
I made many. When you fell I picked you up
too soon, but when you called for help
only your guardian angel heard.
Buried in a room of words
I couldn't hear your cry. You found the help
you've needed ever since,
and it's killing us both.
You were born
with a soft white name like a gift