my eleven years alive daughter R does not stand as close as she used to. stretching…she pulls away and i fight my arms from holding her back.
she was born grafted to god.
i knew at the beginning she was his. still i have wrestled often with the want to make her my own.
she has been leaned over from him, led by my growth, fed by my fruit, covered from the storms she is not yet ready to face…
but he gives. he sustains.
tangled up in the plant that i am, the pulling free bring tears for both of us.
i dry them and feel the fit of our new shape. breathing in what is ahead with the assurance of a love even bigger than mine holding her.
and when she presses against me to know that i am still where she finds certain, i press kisses to her head. my heart whispers a bottomless thank you for her fragrance in my life.