Henry Ford Hospital, by: Frida Kahlo, 1932
If I were to have a child, let it be a son, a dog, a blogging crow or a bedside instead.
I would not have her be like my grandfather, either way.
I would not have him pretend to be a romantic poet, not even Bysshe Shelley, falling
the lowest. If I were to have a daughter, I would not have him pretend she
were a rattling, jumping old rabbit.
I would not have him pretend he were a God, sitting on a plastic chair in a cloud,
rising a wrinkled hand, breeding under every exemplary home,
like a beast of such primitive stage sketch.
If I were to have a child, I would not have him be like his father.
I would not have her get rocks on her shoes. She would not be like my grandfather,
pretending he was all on this wall and more,
leaving many deadly plants with unmovable roots.
I would not have her be any of these,
if I only were to have a child.