To my daughter

photo credit - the author

Inside her rib cage, the family tree blossoms.

The spirits of heritage evaporate into steam.

Her veins are empowered and colored with eloquent promises.

Her lungs blow the flywheel and fuel the engine of dreams.

And nothing gets twisted or squished into a purposeless riddle.

The neighboring feelings are leaning intangibly. Well,

Her rib cage can accommodate even limitless freedom

And lock the whole package of self in the exceptional cell.

There are only two lasting bequests we can give our children — one is roots, and the other, wings.

Hodding S. Carter