birthday

My daughter sleeps the sleep of waiting -
her breath, like little whirlpools of water
fills the darkness of the room -
she opens her face to the morning every
day, like a flower, unaware that her hair
curling like snakes, dances like embers in
shallow light - when walking she uses the
space of angels - it's only when her eyes
darken, with razor-edge green, that i
can see the ancient queen, she is to be.



by Nomi Ben-David