To My Daughter

by Greg Hill

You’re going to die.
Admit: there isn’t time
to walk every garden
before the gates close.

You’re going to have
decisions to make. Be
in those moments you
need to build yourself.

You’re going to want
and want more and want
to run away or maybe run
as your grandmother did.

You’re going to think
there is more you should
be doing. There isn’t time
to look too far back.

You’re going to ask
for more time. There isn’t
time. There used to be stars
in someone’s sky—

You’re going to wish
you could have wished upon them.
They died too. They exploded so you
could be here, be you. Be you.