Fish
At thirty-four weeks, I wanted to be born foot first.
Oxygen helped my lungs but damaged my eyes.
I went home after weeks of nurses.
Then, months of colic-filled nights followed.
The beginning of my impossible voyage.
Dad said that I was created to survive.
He quit playing semi-pro football to care for me.
Mom said I was teeny like a mustard seed.
She often repeated: “best things come in small packages”.
Love dominated my tiny countenance.
I wanted to celebrate life with pride in myself.
I wanted to color ‘outside the lines”.
I began to contemplate life beyond the norm.
This little towhead was destined to rise!
Swimming and theater became my passions.
Dad named me “Fish” because I’d paddle for hours.
Mom called me “her tiny thespian.”
Bullies and nay-sayers could not stop me.
I realized that my reality resounded with radiance.
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