To My Daughter
Are silken threads that build the stairs of cells
the coils that bear your love of family?
For you and I are more than blood that dwells
in tomes of birth and rites of destiny.
The acid rub of heritage with trust
is not a tissue test of bases –
Still, love of family needs wanderlust
to nourish memories of long lost faces.
And father's words and mother's sighs can't keep
a child we chose for love to stay at home
when Guangzhou's rivers sing to her in sleep
of times before adoption's crescent dome.
If you must go one day to China's seas,
remember our love's unfettered keys.
Chris Bays lives on the outskirts of an Audubon -sanctioned reserve in Ohio. When not recovering from a long night of screech owls, he is grading college students' essays or gallivanting around the country with family. His poetry has appeared here and abroad.