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.
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