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She looked through family photos trying to figure out
Whether or not she belonged 
Knowing she did not
Her birth mother was deceased now
She wished she had never found this family

They had been reluctant to meet her
They had their own history.
It was not hers.
She had nothing in common with them.
She felt sad as she looked through their meager box of photos
Looking for something that would make her day better

Her own family was three states away
Lamenting that she had to do this
A week before Christmas
Wanting her to be there desperately
She could see the photos of herself on their mantle.
They were her everything.

She put down the meager box,
phoned Uber, and left this bunch of strangers
a note. They would figure it out when they
saw the afghan folded up and the couch empty.
None had been eager to see her.
Conversation stilted.
About as unwelcoming 
as her birth mother had been.
She saw her in them.

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