Daughter I am saying things to you
by Amy Schmitz
published in Kestrel, Fall 2016
like sand seed storage
like always have something to sustain you, something
of substance beneath your surface
always stay within yourself
withdraw but do not wither
I came from nothing
I was fed on nothing I decorated my hair
with nothing so
I had to give you a pocket inside your graduation dress
I had to give you lockets nooks decades
I had to give you Dublin Paris Munich
(you took Dakar Addis Nairobi)
Daughter I am saying things to you
like return but do not hurry
I am saying things to you like room ring restless
breach slip wood
lake border
you are turning them into ocean palisade downpour
I am saying things like mountain pine basin
you are turning them into canyon desert mesa
Daughter I am telling you
stay within yourself—there is no thirst for you
elsewhere
there is no one you’ll love like I do
go but do not linger
I came from nothing
I was bred on nothing I was wanted for nothing I looked
for nothing so
I had to give you the wild outer edge green-gold spire needle-dry inland
of Californian spring
thick skin to withstand loss
a spine to shed
curves for shelter
