If I have Daughters

They must be a fine seed
viable even in arid lands.

Mother, Earth knows your essence:

I planted songs of praise
for those who take care
of us – me and my kinds
termed as open wounds
to be sauced with salt,
along the way to the markets
without calling names.
A woman wrote your name
on a paper and placed
it on my palm. It reads:
your mother tops the list.
If I have daughters,
they must be you –
a gardener of love.