Like Sitting Shivah

When you first came,

fifty pounds wet

and seven years old.

Cast off from family,

chased by the crazies,

held out in shelters

until you found our refuge.

You became my little girl.

But now I have to let you go.

Like sitting shivah for the week

after accepting that you can never

be who I imagined, prayed and desired

you to be.

I have come to terms to peace

with what you have become and

what you might have been all along.

For it's not evil, not even bad choices

but a condition, like wiring done wrong

that gives the ideas, that creates it's own mayhem.

For now I resist you,

protecting your son.

I know I can't trust you.

I surely cannot win.

Never will, 

but I love you,

I must

for the rest of my days.