for my children

i want to water my daughters

so they blossom into modest women

with patterned skirts and bright scarves

covering hair the color of coffee grounds, 

tucked away for a wedding night.

i want my sons to grow like trees

spine and knees like oak trunks,

unbendable

with laughter like leaves

and hands like branches,

always reached out, 

offering protection

from vast sky 

i want them both to speak like breezes

and love like lightening, need God like

a river, water to quench a dry tongue,

to think fiercely and live happily,

a mother's prayer for her children 

to remember the texture of their father's hair

and color of their mother's teeth

i want them to own memories

entwined with the smell of cantaloupe 

and rainy nights, i want the feel

of sticky mango juice

to make them smile

i want honey to

make them remember their skin

and what it is there for

i wish for them warm springs

and cool falls, forgiving summer sun,

and kind winters

rain like powdered sugar, made to dance in

and only one hurricane,

to ensure they praise God for it all,

every day.

before their birth,

their conception,

before their mother had her hands henna'd

by singing women,

or even met their father's eyes across a room,

this is a prayer for them.