What would you tell her
The you of twenty years ago
Your bloody daughter
Wiped on doctor’s sleeve
What would you say?
Lying there with your legs open and mind shut
Would you tell her about all the false starts?
Or pick a cliché, like time goes so fast
Would you sit by the river eating damp sandwiches
And say only one thing
Don’t forget
Oh please, do not …
Because it runs out
And the music stops
You realize you didn’t find
In squirming crowd and nubile bundle of years
That self-assured hand of worship
Divination and objection
Pulling you out of horror
A soaking crimson thing
Searching for tapestry within wider weave
Throwing runes in fire pits
Eating the marrow of after birth
To discoverment
What would you tell her to look for ?
Learn the meaning before running
Barelegged catching scratches, leaving blood
Weeds pressed at their fragile necks by the thunder of your sprint
Straightening afterward, leaving no trace
Swaying all, in direction of beckoning wind
Tumbling off high rocks
Their granite faces scowling
Disapprobation carved into their carbon
As surely as your little chest heaves with the labor
Of surviving