Dear Little Fish is a letter/prose poem that I wrote to my unborn son. He was six months along and at the time I had no idea that he was a boy or that he had Down Syndrome. This piece has become my heart song to him and honestly, I had no idea how prophetic the piece would be. Somehow I knew (before I knew), that he would have a vulnerability that would break me wide open. I imagine that you can relate.
Dear Little Fish,
There are a myriad of names I could call you—Little Papaya, minor Oblongata and Action Hero being the most current endearments—but of late you’ve felt so very aquatic and I the aquarium, that it seems inevitable that I revert to the watery, the oceanic.
Let me introduce myself. We are, of course, well acquainted in the most primal of arrangements, but if I’m to understand your orientation correctly I am, at present, merely the invisible water in which you swim. I am the alpha to your omega, the Escher staircase to your stair. I am the mystic flute that you hear but you don’t yet know that the flute has a player. Or that she has a name.
So, a formal introduction: Hello, Little Fish. I’m your mother I am She of the Rubber Room. That’s right, the one you’ve been playing tennis against. I am the deep bass wall that resonates with every thwack and swing of your racket. And let me say, you’re quite the player – merciless – you’d have that gussied, white-trousered Wimbledon crowd on their feet, pulling their hair out like flowers and throwing the strands at your feet.