wild daughter {happy birthday}

To the one who closed our circle. Who made the final point on the star.  Who came in with the ether, gave voice to all that we could never see.  The one who howled herself in and made our family fully whole. Complete. 

You are my teacher.

There was a moment when you were 9 months old that I curled up around you and tucked you into my chest and whispered in my ear that you were my best friend.

Then I realized how insane that was.  You were my daughter and I was your mother.  But everything about you felt so kindred, beyond mother daughter.  Like you came here with neon sign for me to see. Flashing, flashing. 

You are my mirror. 

That was what it was.  I saw you and realized you were growing into the little girl I never knew that I could be. I quieted mine. And you quite clearly had no intention of staying small and not heard. You teach me to use my voice beause you refuse to not say it how it is, how you feel it.  You teach me to ask for what I want because what you want is the only way you'll have it. 

You are my hero. 

When everyone else seems to say sssshhhhhhh you say ARRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOO and CAAAAHHHHCAHHHHH and YAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOOOOOO. 

When everyone else complains of the long and winding road, dusty and dry and exhausting, you just open your dove wings and start to fly, lauging wildly at those that think they can't go any further. You show them how. You teach me that we all can rise up.  That we are not just echoes of our desires. We made of the wind. We can change anytime we want.

Dear sweet one.  I don't know where you came from or where you have been or where you are going, but holy love, I adore you. You make my heart pour. You make my nerves activate. You make me crazy with faith. You know things and you came here to be those things. You emobdy mystery and intensity and sugary sweetnes. And even if they tried, nobody will get in your way, especially yourself. 

What a beautiful example you are in the ultimate act of self- love and honor. 

Your are changing and growing and your beauty is effortless and your strength is innate. And it seems like just yesterday you were born. I can smell it still- the living room full of life blood and a women cracked open to love and death all in one moment that was actullay 4 hours longs. The fastest and longest 4 hours of my life. 

I'll never forget the way you twisted and turned out of me, like you were fighting your way to the light, your heartbeat all wishy washy and your hand grabbing at something inside me for leverage as you pushed off from the womb and into the storm of life.  And I can still hear the wind that beat against the single pane windows, with whistles and screams and the fire cracking, whole logs splitting into flame, making the house this orangy color. 

That day. Those early morning hours. The last time I felt so damn alive.  Thank you, darling, for giving me that gift of feeling that alive. There is nothing else like it. 

I hope that I can give you space to find your way, to give you space to know joy and saddness and lust and fear and creation and space just not to know things and mistakes and to feel, to deeply feel all that life will ask of you. I hope that I can just create that space.  So that you always feel this free.  To be you, expressed + explored + exalted. 

Tonight I am tired and so are you.  Today you turned seven.  Seven. Imagine that. So old and yet still so tiny. You asked for a hike, and an antique store, and a lemon cake with fondant gnomes and mushrooms and sushi, and rollerskating down our street. We are tired, a good tired, like life just met us with a big heck yeah and we didn't stop. 

You are the girl with the tiny body, birdlike structure, but the biggest largest source of energy and spirit that I have ever experienced in a human.  Don't ever change that {i mean maybe eat a little more for your mama here and there, mmk?}. You are as perfect as perfect comes.  I know it isn't easy being you.  It's a big deal to come to earth as Echo Dove, wild, seeking, and more unchained to anything than most people know how to be.

And you are my daughter.  And I love.  Because really that is all that needs to be said.  I love you.  And I wish you everything you want, everything that will make your heart feel loved and whole and make your body feel healed and well.  I love you.  I see you. I will meet you anywhere and anytime. And I would do anything for you, forever, and every.  Amen.




* * * 

Because she says things to me and I close my eyes and pray in thanks. Because she dances like no other human I know and sings to the platinum moon at night and the whiskey sun in the morning.  In honor of her wild. And my own. A moment.  Because I love her.

{as published in Amulet Field Guide, Summer 2013}

Dear daughter

You sleep in front of the fire.

I curl next to your naked body

My nose goes straight for your head.

Digging inside the tangled wall

Of hair you refuse to wash.

You smell like caterpillars

And damp dirt.

And leftover sand and sea from yesterday,

Root beer and blueberries.

Peonies and lavender.

I pick thimbleberry flower petals

from your knotted hair

some bark that appears to be cedar.

I leave the twigs right where they are.

Like an accessory,

They shine. Adorned you are.

Tribal paint of splattered pomegrantes

across your cheeks

and forbidden sharpies 

tattoo your flesh.

Your dreads are almost the real deal

and your feet are layered

in dry cracked earth.

You find shoes senseless,

a waste of precious time


the secrets of dirt

against the freshness

of your souls.

You can scale the forest

with matrix like magic,

attending to the needs

of the world you’ve created

in between this world
 and another.

Designed from borrowed spirits

and evergreen boughs.

Pine cones and small plastic figurines

Stolen spoons from my kitchen drawer.

We carry you upstairs.

You lay against his arms

Like a queen.

A sorceress of dreamland.

A priestess of voodoo

not yet invented.

We lay your body

against pink and purple satin pillows

and a turquoise quilted duvet.

You immediately open your mouth

To drool and snore.

Your wildness isn’t out of place

against the synthetic beauty of your bedding bling.

It’s exactly right, perfect

wherever you are, always.

It’s a compliment

to anything you lean against

or come into.

Being out of place is never out of place.

This forest has untrained you.

And me too.

These memories are ingrained.

The smells stay inside your skin.

The owl’s call echoes in your bones forever.

Wild child.

Feral and fearless.

Daughter of the earth.

Daughter of my blood.

Keep my wildness wild.

Along side your own.