Raise Her Wild

Do not let her take root

in the silt,

where her budding beauty

is tendrilled to the inky black

that hides her depths.

Her fate is stillness.

Her purpose:

polite, delicate existence,

until she withers,

wilting,

never knowing that blooming

is not belonging.

Teach her to float

like dandelion fluff,

an untamed wish that dances

with the vines of the willows.

Teach her to sway

in the saw grass,

strumming the cattails

like a harp.

Teach her to burn

with the light

that breaks through the pines

in golden beams

that can make

even the tiniest gnats

and particles of dirt

into stardust.

Let her unlearn the hush

of expected tranquility.

Teach her to howl

with conviction,

not to fear baring her teeth,

or leaving her mark.

Teach her to become

the heartbeat of the forest

where the water lilies only dream.