Leah

I do not know my daughter
I have seen her once, briefly, a baby
I recognised something about the curve of the mouth
That I'd seen before
On my sister, my brother, probably on me,
But I don't look at myself in that way
I saw it on her.

I do not know my daughter
I do not know her laugh, her cry
Or what makes her do either
I can only guess
But beyond the physical causes
I cannot know the emotional sparks that drive her
Cannot know where she sees quiet beauty
Or the fiery flashes that excite her soul

I do not know my daughter
And she does not know me
But somewhere within the traces of her being
There are traces of me, waiting
Maybe they will emerge
Maybe they will be stifled
Maybe they will lead her to greatness
Maybe to error
Maybe

I do not know my daughter
I have presents never given
Words never said
Circumstances never explained
Somehow I feel a small footprint on me
A tiny but persistent weight on the heart
That cannot be seen, cannot be measured
But is always felt.

I do not know my daughter
And she does not know me
She does not know how I suffered and will suffer still
For love of her
It is a love she cannot understand
Not young, as she is now
Maybe as she grows older
She might guess
Might from the jigsaw pattern of her life
Discern the missing piece
Some of its shape

I do not know my daughter
I am not even certain of the name she bears
But Leah is how her mother and I named her
Named her to ourselves.