I am asking too much of this child.
I whisper, Save us.
She enters the world, plucked whole
from my brittle shell.
Pain forms a concrete crust.
My daughter is pushing free of my grasp,
weighted with second-hand hurt.
We plant these stones in our children,
a terrible anchor:
my father told me I was too fucked up to love.
I discovered in myself, as
icicles freeze and melt, this anger
sprouting new roots.
My girl is growing in ripples, exploring her sudden body,
waving her arms like the flag of a newly sovereign country,
where she finds a self;
a bowl, ready for filling.
I am swollen with light.

I am swollen with light:
a bowl, ready for filling,
where she finds a self,
waving her arms like the flag of a newly sovereign country;
my girl is growing in ripples, exploring, her sudden body
sprouting new roots.
Icicles freeze and melt; this anger
I discovered in myself as
my father told me I was too fucked up to love,
a terrible anchor.
We plant these stones in our children,
weighted with second-hand hurt.
My daughter is pushing free of my grasp;
pain forms a concrete crust.
From my brittle shell,
she enters the world: plucked, whole.
I whisper, Save us.
I am asking too much of this child.