I am on stage, small girl
with her best dress hanging proudly
from small bones.
In front of her, seas of excited eyes look on
to find a glimpse of a son or daughter.
And I stand there with my Mommy and Daddy and Sister
beaming at me, unaware that
a few moments ago Mrs. Clapp was yelling and
hurting my ears, unaware that I
practiced my song in the bathtub (this is a lie, I hardly ever bathed)
whispering so that no one could hear.
So I step further into the bright lights
and hold up my sign, listen to the cameras snapping,
and am FINALLY happy to be wearing a dress.