Daughter

You are my daughter.
When you came from me screaming I had a pile of clothes that are not pink but blue – I’d rather dress you in the colour of a sunny morning sky than one when God sends out a warning.
The shepherds would guide you back, but I want you to find your own way, use your body as a compass and know that your heart beats right to the tip of your pointer finger, your northern point – ‘HOME’.

In place of Barbie you’ll have a marble in the shape of a globe so that you can hold the world in the palm of your hands and roll it and drop it and feel no consequence.
There will be no pinched in waist, no hair that stays straight even when twirled, twisted, tugged – none of you looking at me with serious eyes, grabbing your own hair and pleading:
‘Mother, iron it.’

And those beach holidays with tanning and piña coladas can STOP
because baby, I’m taking you to Alaska and you’ll collect stamps on your passport rather than patches of sunburnt skin.

I want the Himalayas and the temples of China to be stuck to the inside of your eyelids, crafted like a film-strip so that the movie of these places will play out on a loop whenever you close your eyes.
Better that than a slide show of every boy in your class that might never be yours.

At bedtime we’ll count all of the plastic stars that glow like a thousand cats eyes stuck to your ceiling and make up a story to go with each one – we’ll leave behind those fairy tales with princess’ who see sex as salvation and are saved by a shiny prince.

You can open your eyes without a man, and will only open them to one
 if you choose to.

In our house, cookies will be in the drawer closest to your height - and make up the furthest away, up so high that even with your toes en point and your finger outstretched like Lord Kitchener in the ‘Your Country Needs You’ poster as you reach and reach - your 10 year old self
can’t.

But honey
if one day, when you’re tall enough to reach that drawer and cover your face in cosmetic sparkles like fairy dust, and the cookie box remains full,
I’ll sit back and smile as you walk out that door,
hoping your compass will guide you well, 
and if not,
knowing that the Shepherds will be there
somewhere.

- 2011