Diamonds In The Rough

If I had know then
 that the handbook of life had
 been lost to the fire before I was
born,
 torn asunder
by the parents who
 could not love
 one another without
 drawing knives,
I may have just turned
 around and
 headed back,
 saving myself an entire life to here,
 digging holes trying to find
the instructions for
 living and
paying special attention to the
words of others who have
 walked across the Mohave without
water,
 lived on nuts and berries in
the Sierras,
 fashioned shoes out of tires
shredded by 18 wheelers climbing
The Grapevine.
Growing old on earth
 vanquished that child in me to
the shadows for survival
 with all of her dreams glistening
 and bejeweled like
diamonds in the rough.