The First Word I Gave Her

The day she was born

I began to tell her

of the letters

that she will need to wield:

"N" - like a talisman,

"O" - like a sword.

I braided the whispers of them

with barbed wire

into the locks of her soft hair,

willing the primordial knowledge to seep

into her marrow.

I stand in place of her armor

that she hasn't quite yet grown into;

like the drawbridge to a castle,

closed,

unapologetic,

unyielding.

I sing songs to her,

drenched in morning,

as she wraps herself fully,

around my chest,

to remind her - this is HER kingdom.

this is HER heart.

this is HER truth.

Let them call it wild.

Let them call it sensational.

Let them call it withholding -

their feeble feelings;

fractured

by the meager, innocent, walls

of her tiny frame,

says more about their crab-grass nature.

No daughter of mine will feel the need

to curtsy before wolves,

even if they wear crowns,

or carry our name.

No is a full sentence -

a necessary battle cry.

And if they call her:

too loud,

too bold,

too much -

she will simply smile,

like a beach cottage with a thousand locks,

and proudly say:

"Yes, I am."