If I Should Have a Daughter
A Poem by Mica L. Rich
If I Should Have a Daughter
- After Sarah Kay
My god
I hope I never have a daughter.
I wasn’t very good at being one
to begin with, always scraping knees
and knocking over vases,
and picture frames,
and
people.
I hope I never see pain
in my daughter’s eyes
when the neighborhood boys
scowl at her,
as if the simple boldness
of her existence
is an affront to their way of life.
When they tell her “No,
you can’t play,
this is a boy’s game”
before they make her
test her strength
by how many punches
she can take to the gut,
or how fast
she climbs out from under
the tangle of bramble
they’ve thrown her into.
I was always good at those games,
frankly, whining far less at the prick
of the thorns than they did at
being proven wrong,
and yet they still
never let me play king.
I hope I never have to stand
behind her on our
quiet, sun-soaked street, with sweat
dripping rivulets off of us both,
and tell her that while her
10-year-old neighbor bursts
from his soaking shirt and runs
free and wild through the sprinkler,
she must keep her own
offending seven-year-old chest
hidden
for the sake of his decency.
I hope when my daughter faces
the mean end of a
broken boy she never
comes to me with
tears in her eyes wondering
what she did wrong.
I hope she never has to hear
what my father once told me,
what half the world still tells me,
that I’d probably feel better if I forgave
my rapist,
and in the same breath accusing me
of being the mistake.
A daughter is, in essence
a force so powerful and wild
the whole world believes
she must be bound
for their protection,
though they will try to convince her
it's for her safety first.
At the same time, her girlhood
is such a fragile thing,
can be broken too soon by the sound
of violence hurled at her
through news stories,
social media models,
and laws
made to govern her body.
My god, I hope
I never have a daughter
but fuck,
if I do,
she is going to see me fight for her.
She is going see me
feral and furious with
flesh between my teeth from
any man who dares suggest
she was “asking for it.” Damn it,
she will see my cry for her
at every loss of innocence and know
the full weight of that loss,
and also
that she is more than strong enough to carry it,
and she will never have to bear
that weight alone
There will come a day
she sees me naked,
and I’ll make damn sure
she doesn’t see
the shame I have for it,
god forbid I pass this burden onto her.
One day I hope
she will see me dancing
like no one is watching,
but with everyone watching,
and she will watch me and see
how it doesn’t slow me down one bit.
Some days
she will see me soft,
and nurturing,
and some days
heartbroken,
wretched and messy,
and every day
she will watch me treat myself
with kindness,
even when I don’t think I deserve it--
No, especially
when I don’t think
I deserve it, and dammit
she will learn to love herself so hard
not a thing the world
has to say about it can take
that feeling away from her.
My god, I hope
I never have a daughter.
What right have I to bring her
into a world designed to destroy her?
If I should ever have a daughter,
I’ll make damn sure she knows
that this is her world
to change.
Mica L. Rich (they/them) is a New England writer whose poetry explores themes of trauma and its effect on healing and identity, valuing the strength and bravery found in vulnerability. Their work aims to provide an outlet for people struggling to find their own voices in a world that would often rather not hear them. Mica’s poetry has appeared in several journals and collections, such as The Avocet, Inkwell, and Wingless Dreamer’s Dark Poetry Collection, as well as being published on NHPR.com. Their first collection, This Is How Wildflowers Grow, can be found through Barnes & Noble or in person anywhere Mica performs. Mica is an organizer at Slam Free or Die, is the Assistant Editor for Poetry Society of New Hampshire’s Touchstone Journal,, and works as a teacher, tutor, and freelance editor. Find Mica online at www.micalediting.net/poetry Instagram and Tiktok: @feral_fairy_poet Facebook: Mica Rich