Blood

Denver’s blood.

 

One night making the long drive home

after working with another damaged child.

My mobile rang. Denver’s voice:

“Hi can I ask you a question?”

“OK Denver you know you can.

What do you want to ask me?”

“Can I have a blood transfusion?

I don’t want my blood anymore”.

I asked why not. Denver replied

“She told me my dad isn’t my dad

 and when the Court test my blood

 it’ll prove my dad isn’t my dad.

So if I get my blood taken out

and put my dad’s blood in me

they won’t take me away from him”.

Denver was 9 years old

living with her sister and father.

They were asleep when her mother

broke into the house during

one wild drunken rampage

and killed all the children’s pets.

“My dad’s not my real dad

but he is my dad

he’s been there always.

He’s the only one I’ve known

If I have his blood

They won’t take me away.”

 

She sighed when I told her

I won’t let them take you away.

 

There is a poverty of the heart.

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