It is late at night
when I sit back
watching the daughter
I never had
start to laugh.

A weird dream
that is set on repeat
as she
plays at my feet
then fades like
a shadow.

I hear her voice
in my head
begging me to read
another story
or slyly offering
to read to me,
making me
smile proudly
at her clever ploy
to stay awake late
after I have already
tucked her in.

All the books
that I read,
I give to her
instead
of donating them
to my nearest
librarian.

All my friends
think they know
the reason I say no
to the idea of
a family to come
but the truth
in fact
is the hope
that I’d lack
if my dream daughter
never came back.

There is a lot of pain I can bear
but that would break me beyond repair.


We are a multitude of voices
relished while being raised
exalted for our exquisite visages
and voracious vocals that violate
the dark intent of men
who seek to profit from the enslaved.