I am a daughter of my Father.

He died when I was 16

I know I’ll never meet him –

In person, but

I hear Him, for his writing, his words, his deeds

Keep showing up anew –

The things he did before I was born and after

When I was too little to understand.

I see his works and smile

-----

I am a daughter of my Father.

Sometimes, I feel his eyes upon me.

What would he say to me now, to know me as an adult?

He was an activist, he hated injustice.

What would he say about the world now – to have been able to grow old in it?

He would have liked that – who wouldn’t?

I worry I’m not as determined as him

I have to be determined, to not falter or be dragged off by an undertow of negativity or bitterness

---

I am a daughter of my Father.

I understand life isn't just given to you like a present, you have to give yourself.

To push on. Those blisters of turmoil are their own reward.

I say spread your arms and fly!

Run through this world, which is still our Eden

And think of our fathers and mothers – the good ones who laid the foundations

And the bad ones who haunt us still.

---

I am a daughter of my Father.