Letter to my daughter

Letter to my Daughter

Sometime past midnight,

I am reading your note, the story of your equinox afternoon. I can smell the sugary musk of rain and rot. I see the field and you in slow motion playing with a ball that gets away and rolls into the elongated shadows of the trees. I am a slug munching leaves there and, as you pass, I twitch my antennae into the vibrating air. You kick the ball back out into the open under the red-orange evening sky.

Tomorrow the light will begin its retreat, allowing the world to sink back into its roots. In breath, out breath. Bittersweet. Little Molly is curled beside me, her thin black lips hidden by white hair.

I love you, always.