Fighter

*Letter to my daughter who had various surgeries when she was a baby. Maya you are as still as a rose as prayers work through your small body and needles rest in your arm. I watch the IV drip like tears down the tubes and your eyes are enameled as you hide from a secret place of pain. I've never been a fighter. I'd prefer being a captive to the ghosts dancing around in my head. But, as I watch you battle against your own body, I see a warrior, a light peaking out through your veiled lids. I hope someday to be as strong as you.