feral, waiting

Let me be direct: to say I want you is to challenge fate. I came here, orphan girl, plastic sac in which I carried: extra pair of flowered tights, red wool hat, yellow sweater knitted by a kind, nameless woman in her suburban raised ranch for the church drive where they gathered up the tiny garments and sent them to Korea in trash bags wrapped with masking tape and so to say I want you is to ask for more than is allotted, to say open me, map of rivers is to reach beyond the walls of this sheltered space to which I have been carried, lifted from the swift river and set gently down too wet, too hungry to sleep (but what did they expect, taking in this abandoned child, feral, waiting, and ready to strike)