This Bloody Stroke

I keep returning to the fact that
there is a part of my daughter that I hate.
And this bit of her is me.

Her blood, my blood, her father's blood
our ancestor's blood that congeals
in her head. All this pride and tragedy

clumping into small gangs of potential
killers. All this glorification
of slave rebellions, maroons,

silent night creepers stealing
freedom. Union
organizers, civil

rights activists, feminist
icons. Now
and then, the occasional

lust-filled sneaky master,
golden-eyed conquistadors,
Caribs. And Scottish Judge Hackett -

8 Carrington babies with Luscious
followed by 8 Hacketts -
all Luscious born and juicy

scraps of waist expanding morsels.
I would wish her long enough
to offer this blood to another

and pray it brings no unity.