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Sunday, November 14, 2021

"Dear Daughter" by Christopher Fox Graham

 

Dear daughter,
for the last three and a half years 
you, your mother and I have been 
a trifecta of awesome
you the cataclysm
your mother the emergency response
and me the PR department

I cannot predict you
nor aid in the recovery
like your mother
I merely tell strangers, “it could be worse
“be thankful this is as bad as it was 
“this is the damage you can expect to see
“now, go and tell your relatives you survived
“warn them of what's on the horizon”

for three and a half years 
you have been the center of our world
now, two planets will emerge from the darkness
twin stars rising above the horizon 
a pair of orbs to orbit alongside you
I am sorry you are no longer solo
but I am not sorry you are no longer solo

your mother is doing all the labor
I only assisted
I am the RBI
Mission Control
riding shotgun on this out of control stagecoach 
off the cliff of having twins

You have not gained competitors
nor enemies 
but co-conspirators
allies in your little girl revolution
fellow doombringers
heart pirates
hunters on the savanna
warships in a squadron
raining down hellfire at range

Athena wasn't alone either
after she sprang fully arm'd and armor'd
from the mind of Zeus
Hera bore her siblings, too
you will be a trifecta, granddaughters of Chaos

We have gone from trio to quintet 
we do not count by even numbers in this house
me alone, then your mother and you
then the twins
We are a Fibonacci family

we do not yet know who or what they will be
but if, like you
they are equal weights of metric-level amazing
I can only imagine you'll love them as much as we do

they will not be strangers
but as more you, than I am
after all, they're only half me,
half your mother
but you and they share more DNA
and in the end the three of you are more the same
than I and your mother are
keep this in mind
they are not opponents to counter
but allies to co-opt
so do not be jealous
we are having them 
because you are too awesome to be alone
they exist because you were a victory
that needed replication
they are your echoes
evidence of your success

you are first and always will be
I love you singularly for all the days of your life
instead, imagine them in their differences as 
sidekicks
wingmen
your accomplices
Jedi padawans or Sith apprentices
the double-barreled Boomstick
to your Ash Williams
Companions to your Doctor Who,
yes, my blue pickup is the TARDIS

but when in time
your mother and I spent our last
and we are no more
when we are ash and worm's meat
you and they will be what remains
not echoes
nor sequels
nor reimaginings
nor remakes
but the copyedited versions of our rough drafts
new testaments to the old religions
you are the sins forgiven
the word made flesh
the dreams come true
the better versions
of what we wish we were


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