If I should

If I should have a dream
Instead of wings, I’d give it storms,
and see if it survives, wait for a rainbow to emerge from the wreckage,
a little rain to wash away the open battle ground.

If I should have a book
I would make it purple, for I believe that purple
flows out of my heart, and it only becomes red when it is exposed to the world,
because my purple is shy, just like me.

If I should have a poem
I would name it ‘dragon’, since it is what my soul must be like,
with glowing embers among the debris, colossal fireworks dripping from the tongue,
wrecking fists and a twitching tail.

If I should have a daughter
I would give all my words to her, spin them together
to form stories that I’ve grown inside my heart for her to feed upon,
I would give her my coins of wisdom and equality; and a heart, full of love, big enough for her to grow, stretch to fill all the space that she might need.

If I should have a home
I would fill it with stars and dreams, so that no matter
what storm tries to churn my dreams into ash, there would be a starry night anyway.
I would tape photographs on every wall of it, and it will smell like memories.

If I should have a son
I would give him a part of my flame, for him to burn down
any injustice he would see. I would gift him my stories for him
to latch his hopes, ambitions or even fear upon, and a home where love would be the only thing that’s supposed to be done loudly.

If I should have a farewell
I would give my shadow to the world to see,
my salty feet to the ocean to drink,
my bony fingers to Pappa to hold, my hands to the boy who held them,
An ear to my brother, another to my best friend- tell them I would still be listening. I would give the womb to broken sisters, tongue to silent dreamers,  eyes to walking paradoxes, and the face to my mother, it has always been hers,
they tell me.