there are days when i feel myself craving to be a mother.
i let myself flirt with the fantasy of a daughter playing in a field of daisies,
golden curls bouncing like her laughter off of my heart.
the world does not let me forget its presence long.
how daisy are weeds that fool you with their prettiness,
how the universe will fool you into thinking that it is soft.
i tell myself that she will not be like me,
she will not carve out her bones to make room for men who will feast on her soul,
she will not chop off her curls when boys tug on them on the playground.
i imagine any daughter of mine would grow to be a warrior,
tongue sharper than a sword,
soul more powerful than a tsunami wave.
but i will remember this world is not always worthy of the life we bring into it.
that hardening comes from pain,
and that fact will always outweigh fantasy.