Every year for my birthday (and usually Christmas too) my father writes me a poem. This year he recounts my first time jumping off the Burnstown Pier.

armed with ducky wings she jumped

sisters taunting, sisters cheering

mom, dad, knowing it was coming

ladder leaps, old-fashioned now

from rung 3 to 5, then 8 to 10

to the top, brave soul

no time wasted, into the sky

five-years old, fearlessly lifting off

breathlessly soaring. . .

Splash! into water, up and out

up the ladder, straight off again

more airtime. . .

Marion the leader, egged her on

Evelyn the cheerleader, laughed alone

Whose child is this anyway?

Not ours eh, Diane

The gaul of it all, for a child to fly

no permission given, no permission needed

she hears the drumbeat of her own soul

rising into the air. . . 

                                    -Otimba