Gabriella Alziari


When I have a daughter,

she will grow tall as

a willow tree.


I will wait

with baited breath

as she comes rushing through the door,

stumbling into my arms, moaning he is not the one,

the sobs taking hours to subside

because at sixteen,

he is everything.


When I have a daughter,

she will sprout like summer weeds,

too fast for me to hold her.

I will pull her hand in mine,

nervous that the wind

will blow away her beauty,

the innocence and sunshine

lighting up her eyes.


When I have a daughter

I will hug her bones to mine

because there is no love like this. There is no song as sweet

as her head resting on my shoulder

at eleven o’clock at night.

We are sitting, eating cookies,

watching a careful ray of sunshine

sprouting on the hillside.


When I have a daughter,

I press a note into her palms

as she waves a long goodbye.

Red brick buildings stand behind her, and

this distance seems unbearable,

this 14 hour drive.

I spread a grin across my face. I am acting for the moment,

watching, as she turns

into a dot

through the grey doorway.


When I have a daughter,

I will spot her across the airport,

her face tanned with womanhood, her hair pulled into a bun.

I cannot help but run towards her, hurtling my arms around her,

because she is as real as I pictured, I am choking on my tears.


Three words spring to my mind:

pride, and love,

and union.