In the Service of the Queen

she’s changed.
Grown more withdrawn
and wise. Her intuition stronger.
She’s learned to use her face
as armor. She takes no sh*t.

I am so proud.

When she was a baby,
I would sing over her:

I belong
in the service
of the Queen,
with the Crows.

Every time I look at her now,
I still think: Queen.
Khaleesi. Empress. Goddess.
Czarina. Liege. Majesty.

When we parley, it is with respect
and care for dignity.
This approach
has carried us safely on
for years.

When I open my arms,
she leans into them,
staying in my embrace
for long, quiet moments.
I hold her gently, lightly,
the way I hold my beliefs
and opinions, the way I hold
all other things that change
and grow quickly.

I am honored she leans in.
I am so pleased she daughters me,
and allows me to mother her.

Like this post? View similar content here: Letter To My Nine-Year-Old Daughter
by KristenGrace

Kristen Grace manages the gifts that bipolar disorder has brought into her life- resiliency, creativity, deep empathy, and realism- with the humility of a saint. She reads and writes in order to connect with a beautiful and diverse community of people. She is the author of children's book, The Stepmother Who Dreamed of Feathers, Wings: Feminist Fairy Tales, and After I Became a Tree: Poems.


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