Sarah Kay: If I Should Have a Daughter

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If I should have a daughter,

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instead of “Mom,”

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she’s gonna call me “Point B,”

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because that way she knows that no matter what happens,

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at least she can always find her way to me.

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And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands

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so she has to learn the entire universe

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before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”

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And she’s going to learn

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that this life will hit you hard in the face,

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wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.

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But getting the wind knocked out of you

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is the only way to remind your lungs

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how much they like the taste of air.

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There is hurt, here,

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that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.

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So the first time she realizes

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that Wonder Woman isn’t coming,

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I’ll make sure she knows

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she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself

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because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,

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your hands will always be too small

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to catch all the pain you want to heal.

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Believe me, I’ve tried.

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“And, baby,” I’ll tell her,

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don’t keep your nose up in the air like that.

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I know that trick; I’ve done it a million times.

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You’re just smelling for smoke

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so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,

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so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire

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to see if you can save him.

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Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,

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to see if you can change him.”

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But I know she will anyway,

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so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply

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of chocolate and rain boots nearby,

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because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.

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Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.

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But that’s what the rain boots are for,

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because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.

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I want her to look at the world

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through the underside of a glass-bottom boat,

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to look through a microscope

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at the galaxies that exist

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on the pinpoint of a human mind,

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because that’s the way my mom taught me.

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That there’ll be days like this.

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♫ There’ll be days like this, my momma said. ♫

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When you open your hands to catch

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and wind up with only blisters and bruises;

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when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly

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and the very people you want to save

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are the ones standing on your cape;

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when your boots will fill with rain,

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and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment.

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And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.

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Because there’s nothing more beautiful

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than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,

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no matter how many times it’s sent away.

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You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.

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You will put the star

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in starting over, and over.

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And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute,

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be sure your mind lands

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on the beauty of this funny place called life.

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And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting,

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I am pretty damn naive.

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But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.

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It can crumble so easily,

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but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.

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“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your momma is a worrier,

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and your poppa is a warrior,

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and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes

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who never stops asking for more.”

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Remember that good things come in threes

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and so do bad things.

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And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong,

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but don’t you ever apologize

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for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.

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Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing.

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And when they finally hand you heartache,

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when they slip war and hatred under your door

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and offer you handouts on street-corners

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of cynicism and defeat,

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you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.

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Thank you. Thank you.

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(Applause)