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I am trying not to sob, under the pressure of the moment.

Eight years old, the end of the year in my new school,
We make a celebration; I will give a little speech,
"What it means to be an American."
I walk out on the stage, I am shy,
I am already shaking.
Alone under the lights, in my new country,
Being judged by so many people, older and larger than I,
I start to talk then I look down, away from them,
They are sure that I won't make it,
I am fighting myself,
My body trying to breath as it tries to freeze,
And I do cry, I can't stop it, but I am breathing.

I can't feel my feet, down where my tears are falling,
I look up through my tears, faces are on me,
Maybe some are crying, some are smiling.
My English is not perfect but I feel the words,
I get them out, sometimes sob, one word, 
Then sob again, I clench my jaw and grind my teeth,
I gut through it, I get through it,
Not some silly thing like they might expect,
But the real hopes and joys of a little girl in a new land.

I am dizzy but I can walk off the stage,
Buzzing of clapping, happy people, even yelling,
I feel light.

A man comes to compliment me but stops short
As my mom hugs me, he cannot intrude - 
All the love of parents for children,
All the imaginings of mothers and daughters,
Focused on my courage.



December 16, 2016

For John Hamilton's 'What courage means to you - Poetry Contest'

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