Memory from When I Didn’t Know Birth Mother from Adoptive Mother

The first time was when I confessed
to doing something I guess I shouldn't 

have done: drawing 2 clumsy shapes 
with a blue BIC ball pen on a lampshade. 

I was trying to imitate the repeating print 
of Mondrian-like squares, thinking they 

would blend in so nicely. Another time 
was when I stomped my feet, refusing 

to play the piano for her friends 
who'd come to visit over tea. I know 

there were many more times but none
as startling as the first when she hissed,

Do you want me to return you to where you
came from? I was only in second grade but knew 

vaguely how babies were born. I stared 
at the space where a tiny belt cinched pleats

around the tiny waist she was so proud of. 
I couldn't understand what that kind 

of return might mean; or if I'd shrink 
bit by bit until there would be nothing.