What Will I Tell My Daughter Who Is Black?

When I conceive, grow,
and love a black baby into this earth
and she is born 60 years old
and the doctor asks why her spine
is already growing into submission.
When the nurse asks,
why at her 3 month check up
her eyes are already bleeding the color of sorrow.
When she is sucking supple nipples,
and takes just enough to almost nourish her.
Being sure to swallow in consideration
of her great, great grandmother,
who never tasted the breasts of her own mother
because they were too busy being shoved into the mouths
of white babies,
and white men.
When she is never her age.
Always 10 going on 15,
15 going on 30,
30 going on "too old to still be mad at the things that happened"
but too black and woman to forget.
When her eyes and fists anger at the blow
and she comes home
tornado of mad woman whisking down Hambrick Lane.
When she burst through the door
with 400 years of confusion on her back,
and she is heavy and angry, and broken, and thin,
and angry, and almost not here before my eyes,
ripping through the rooms
and falling onto her knees and asking me,
"How mamma? How did I learn this type of pain?"
What will I tell her?