Door

I crack it open softly

letting a single sliver of soft golden light

pour in, a solitary ray of sunshine breaking

through the clouds.

I hear the whisper of her steady breathing,

rhythmic waves ebbing and flowing,

on the slow inhale of the sea.

Her old penny copper hair twinkles in the light,

strands borrowed from a seraph's braid.

I envy her easy slumber,

the way her lips part with the stillness

of full relaxation.

I tiptoe across the carpet,

a sentinel seeking to capture the moment

in a bottle, or in my marrow.

I sit beside her and marvel at the miracle of her,

how she was forged from my very blood,

from my very bones,

smirking; she has my spirit too.

The world will not be ready,

not for her fierce blue eyes,

nor the blade I'll teach her to wield with her tongue

and a spine that won't need fire to be steeled.

I kiss the top of her resting head;

she does not stir.

I retreat in tiptoe,

close it delicately behind me,

and I pray.

I pray she never forgets the joy

of floating bubbles.

I pray she always uses the word NO

as powerfully as the age of 3 declares it.

I pray she will continue to run to me,

for hugs,

for comfort from every dark,

for love that will cover over every hurt,

and tend to every need.

And I pray she could always know this peace

and the guard of a door

opened and closed

by a heart, humbled and grateful.

Participant's Poems