my daughter’s soul will be made up of bedtime stories,
colorful mosaics, and lemon drops.
there will be flowers growing from her skin and
ferocious fight in her blood.
i will tell her how the constellations in the night sky
mimic the freckles on her cheeks, just the way mine do
i will remind her that the light she seeks so deeply
is in her radiant reflection
my daughter will hold eternity in the palm of her hand
like an hourglass holds a grain of sand.
she will be the song everybody sings along to.
she will be the perfect paradox of fire and ice
with a burning heart, passionate, pure, but chilling
she will be a bookstore with a floor that creaks
and dust that clings on to everything
like static in the winter
I will give her my redwood forest eyes,
and eyebrows sharp like a knife.
I will give her my shadow
so that I am always with her-
though she will not need it,
because she can make it all on her own
