Dusk
If I ever have a daughter I’ll name her Dusk
and teach her how to swallow heartbreak like vodka so that the buzz outweighs the burn.
I want to give her every smokescreen joy the city has to offer, but I want her to
climb trees; I want to see my little girl dancing in the tungsten-light and I also want
to hear her mimic the morning birdsong.
I want her to enjoy her mistakes, but if she doesn’t enjoy coffee
I will let her drink hot chocolate.
If I ever have a daughter I’ll bring her up with short hair so she knows it’s easier
and I will give her my old band t-shirts so she knows how soft they are to sleep in
so she knows the sounds that made mama. I will never tell her that old music is better
or that she shouldn’t wear short skirts because it might come back to bite her.
No! I will teach her to bite instead.
If I ever have a little girl I will tell her to turn the night into ink
but if she prefers paint, or screaming, I will make sure she has
a room with white walls and a soundproof door.
I will make sure she knows that her mother loves her
and how big a word ‘anything’ is, because I will do anything for her
anything. If I ever have a daughter I will name her Dusk because
it’s the time in the day when all the lights go on.
Daisy Harris
Daisy Harris Poetry 