Little one, get ready — you have a team
of women who stood before you generations ago,
strong-willed and loose-tongued, who never backed down,
and here you are — stamped with their blood to
carry on their ways.
It is a miracle, the gift of new life, how it
turns a cold and dead heart into
a warm, beating one.
You are hundreds of miles away,
but I will see you soon. I will press my
lips to your forehead, and say a silent
prayer for your growth — for your survival.
You already know the fighting stance,
your little fists are up and ready —
you came here knowing you needed strength.
This world should have a better
welcome mat for your arrival.
We do what we can.
I look at you through pixels and
digital byways as you land safely
in the grip of my hands and I smile.
I remember holding your mother
in my arms when she was just days old
and I was in college, racing home every other
weekend to watch her do something new.
She was before her time,
you look like you are too.
Amira, please hear me. I am sending
my voice to you, I want you to know
that the depths of my soul connects with yours,
that the boldness I birth every day I am
gifted runs deep in your veins.
You are a power we find necessary
and you haven’t even uttered your first words.
You’re making magic happen.
There is a crazy urge living in me,
one that longs to protect you from afar
and build upon that protection with words —
I can tell you with certainty,
I will lay my life on any line
for the beauty of yours
I will willingly go to God when he
calls: no arguments, no debates, and no negotiations.
This is the beginning of your beginning
and your story will shape a long
and moving book — one that never closes.
©2020 Tremaine L. Loadholt
*Special thanks to my kid cousin Nika, for the permission to share this piece and Amira with all of you.