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Grown more withdrawn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.


More From Poetry

This one is for you

by Esther Gonzales

Mental Battle

by Glory Castillo

Comfort Food, Soul Food, Brain Food

by Nicki Amber


by Crystal Grant

Forever Gone

by Brittany Murray


by Kassie Yacyshyn