A Daughter

 
 

I caught her in the ditch again at dusk, thick in the brambles
of blueberries. She was digging at the roots like she meant to save

them from their station, to free a bush from its thicket. She said
she wanted to find where the roots end, as if she were tracing some

herbal lineage in the dirt. I held her muddied hands in mine,
the porch light pulling us out of the dark as we neared the house,

and she traced my palm’s creases, stretched her grasp to meet
the shape of mine, the strange crook of my thumb. She searched

the crests of my nail beds, feeling for something familiar,
some sign that she belonged.

 
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Taylor D'Amico is assistant poetry editor for Five Points and worked as production editor for Muse /A. She earned her MFA at Georgia State University. Her work has appeared in America Magazine, Frontier Poetry, and elsewhere. 

 
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