Blustery, and teary-eyed,
we have hopes for this
little child.
We plan her life
with our eyes
and our words
cement reality
as it forms before us.
We have dreams
for this child
who
will be strong and beautiful
and fast and smart
and perfect.
She is the light of the morning.
She is the dawn.
She will over-come.
She will hide behind her father’s pant-leg,
stepping on his feet.
She will wear pig-tails.
She will let her mother
braid her hair.
She will confide.
She will tell you every day
the small details
of her day
and how much she loves you.
She will laugh, cry, cough
your dreams away
and eventually,
she will die.
She will meet the end
with the dignity and grace
of a woman-grown.
Or maybe,
she’ll just get shot.