Daughter by Isabel Winson-Sagan

Daughter

Daughter
on your brow I see
the maps and flags of places
you’ve never been– human migration
across tundra and the sea.

You wrinkle your nose and cry like a cat

mewling

perhaps last time you made that noise you were under the stars, people in tents with goats, cutting themselves with sharp stones.

Everyone who holds you
ss unnerved by your fragility, your newness

but they’re forgetting

you were born in blood

pulled on a rope

memories lovingly
washed away by Charon before
setting foot back on this side.

You leapt from unborn to newly born
you walked across a narrow bridge
without fear
and all you know is strength

my tiny warrior
my heart
my woman for a new age.