To My Future Daughter: I Hope So Much For You

by EB Messineo

That your cookies be

soft, your bacon

crispy, and your Lays: more

chip than air.

That your front room be ever

filled with coats and shoes

not your own.

That your books have

ice cream stains on every

page, and do not

close properly for

sand in their spines.

That you know “I forgive you”

is brave, and

“I’m sorry” -- braver still.

That you throw pennies into fountains,

and clothes into suitcases,

but never stones at

glass houses,

or glass people,

and sweetheart that’s

all of us.

That you know both the

cerulean sorrow of

missing someone, and

the golden glow of being

someone missed.

That, if you inherit

my bunion, you love the

worn place on the inner side of

all your left shoes, and

do not throw them away, even when

rain sneaks in through

the hole.

That you love music,

for the notes as well as

for the breaths

between them.

That you would just as soon

cross out a word and

replace it with another

as turn to a

fresh page and start

again.

That you can touch your stomach

and love the flesh

you find there, or

better yet: that you not

touch your stomach at all -- why,

when there are hearts to hold

instead.

That you speak, even if

your voice shakes.

That you always love your hands more than

the things that fill them.

That whether you are inside

or outside, you always

feel you are on the right side

of the window

when it rains.

That you hope --

with all the ferocity

and openness

of one who believes

wholeheartedly

in

good.

And that you know, when the

lamp has gone out

and the sun itself

feels too burdened

to rise,

your light will always

outshine the dark.