I prayed and begged for, demanded
a small dark girl child
because I’d already seen her in my dreams—
she was real born alive I could smell her.
I didn’t want the ultrasound’s eye of prediction,
no, I needed that baby girl in my arms.
Before she was born I’d already imprinted,
rocking in a chair, everything I knew to her,
the big belly of her swaying as I spoke of what
to put up with and what shit to not put up with,
and then I heard my god say Love her not too much,
too much; allow her to make her own way.
phrase “love her not too much, too much” from “Beauty” by Elinor Wylie, 1921.