My Daughter, Mother Earth
My daughter smells of sunshine,
she howls at the moon,
takes fabric scissors
in her fingers and cuts
her hair.
She has secrets with flowers,
she gossips with larks,
she knows their song
and sings it to the
mockingbirds.
She has tea with foxes,
she knows which leaves are
poison and always picks
the right cup when
sly ones play tricks.
She tucks sprigs of lavender
behind her ears and whispers
as sister or mother.
My daughter braids
leaves into wreaths
dripping with wet rain.
My daughter trips
on tree roots and
kisses the dirt.
My daughter is
Earth.
My daughter is
Woman.
By Ophelia