He lay alone. A crib among a sea of cribs.
No one. No home.
Lifted, unwrapped, rewrapped, put down.
Indistinct sounds
Disembodied cries: His own? Others? Anyone?
His voice ignored.
Too many babies, too few staff.
He learned to rock himself to sleep.
His mind took him away from hunger, fear, despair, exhaustion.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Contracted world. Folded unto its own.
Eternity.
Then in the numbing monotony
Different arms.
Lifted into chaos
Faces too close, movement too rapid, changes too many.
Sounds mouthed.
Rapid. Jumbled. Urgent.
Unknown.
Numbness threatened, overwhelm piled on.
Snail in. Check out. Burrow deep into alone.
Still something tugged. Come back.
Smiles. Cooing. Soft hands.
Gentle rocking that filtered into his own and
Enveloped
Awakened
Yearning. Sorrow. Despair. Hope. Panic. Need.
Too much. Too much. Too much.
He fled into his mind.
He peeked out. Fled back in.
Moments alternated:
Aware, away, awake, afraid, alarmed, asleep.
Days passed on
Eternity or weeks or months.
Soft words repeated gently
More faces
More holding arms
In rocking, humming, tenderness
Language.
Song.
New scaffold rose as
Meaning slowly dispersed fog
Into words.
A world.
Gentle hands.
Comfort.
Soothing voices at disembodied cries: his own?
His own.
His voice.
Calling.
For someone.
To come.
And they come.
For The Daily Post
Na'ama Yehuda 
Beautifully done
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Thank you! And thank you for taking the time to comment. 🙂
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Wonderful, I could feel the uncertainty, aloneness and found myself hoping for a happy ending. Thank you.
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Thank you, Mr. Mel. So often the ending is not too happy for these children, and yet it can be, especially when both the child AND the caregivers (adoptive and/or fostering) get the help and direction they need to understand why children respond the way they do, and how ‘just giving love’ isn’t always automatically understood or accepted by children who literally don’t know what it is or what to do with it. Help and healing are absolutely possible, even if they take tenacity, hope, and gentle determination on all parts.
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Such is the power of love.
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Love and understanding, yes.
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I have no words to respond adequately to this exquisite expression of the infantile and nonverbal experience of neglect. Is it any wonder that many children adopted from repressive states, warehoused until matched with loving families who wish so much to love them, act out and aren’t receptive, yet. Add to this unconscionable beginning those children whose genetic endowment includes mental illness, addiction, or even in some cases sociopathy and the future for them is uncertain.
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Great comment, thank you! Yes, neglect and lack of secure base aren’t relegated only to those raised in orphanages, but can manifest in households where caregivers are unavailable (e.g. struggle with addictions, are too ill or too overwhelmed to care for the children, are themselves lost to unresolved childhood trauma fogs, etc). Children will do what they can, which often is to remove themselves mentally from the unbearable. Healing requires not only love, but also the skills to understand and address the lasting legacy of early deprivation and despair, and the pain of being rejected (for the adoptive parents by the child, too …) and all it brings up even in the most resilient in us. Uncertain future, yes, but possibility abounds. All the more reason for caregivers to be given support by professionals who understand complex trauma and its aftermath, as well as the paths to is healing. Thanks, my friend!
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This was an exceptionally moving poem. Thank you so much for sharing. I have a poetry blog here on WordPress in case you have time to look? Have a good day, Sam 🙂
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Thank you, Sam! I’m glad you found it meaningful. Of course I’ll be happy to check out your blog! 🙂
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Thanks Na’ama 🙂
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