Stephanie’s brother Tate sent this poem to me to share on the site. You can see the handwritten version more clearly by clicking on the images, but the copies are faded so it’s typed here as well.
Nobody, nobody at all
is going to care
when I die.
My brother and I were our mother’s
legacy to the world.
My father left his papers and letters to fill
in the gaps of what I know of him and what I didn’t.
I have a son alive somewhere in the world
a son I gave up for adoption
when I was nineteen and he was born a 9-month baby in the 9th
month of the year 1960
I as a child–mother gave up my
responsibility for his life.
Where is he now?
Is he well – happy?
Nobody, nobody at all
is going to care
when I die.
No child of mine
will want to hold dear
the moments of my life.
My son – adopted
living where – how
will ever know me.
No one, no one at all
is going to care
how I lived and died.
My soul, my soul’s life
had himself made sterile.
We will have no child.
When I die
no one at all
is going to care.
