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Violent Tears

Brought to violent tears.

The kind that echoes childhood and primal pitches as emotions tumble onto the floor.

Ukrainian news provoked the lost adopted tiger inside me.

Outraged at injustice and frightened for the stuffed animals cherished by their toddlers.

Shocked not only by the war, but by my seeming overreaction.

Then my mother told me my adoptive grandfather’s family immigrated from Kyiv.

Now, it makes sense. For the past two years I had been so preoccupied with writing my adoption book and dreaming of my Korean birth family ancestors that I started to fear that I wasn’t connected to my White adoptive family. I was wrong. Clearly, we are connected on a universal plane that intersects another. My line is dually embedded.

One known. One unknown. Two loved.



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