“Cuckoo”

For money, my own
Mother
Stole my identity.
Strange,
For one to consume the
Yolk of her own eggs –
she felt compelled to
Take what she had
Given me.

My aunt told me of
The birds that lay in
other’s nests.
Their young reared
By other families –
Yet always called their
Own. But What if

The planted chick
Awoke, rose up,
And declared, Mother
I shall stop it here
And let them consume me –
Repay your debts and fade away
Then it is all freely given –
You will have no
need to steal.

Written by Marcy Erb of Illustrated Poetry