Leap of Faith

Instead of watching the Olympics, 
I am watching my toddler
leap into a well of shallow blue.
I am chest-deep, braced to catch her.
Her loose suit slips around her wild body, 
one strap traveling down the hill 
of her right shoulder. Sometimes, 
there is a countdown—though I never know 
if she will jump at five, or ten, or ocho, 
or if she will simply plunge without a count.
I think of the watching mothers, sidelined 
in the stands. I think of her soft and able body, 
muscle rippling beneath the baby fat.
She cannot yet swim, but believes 
that she can fly, and I study the fearless way
she raises her arms above her head, 
leans into the swaying sky, and falls.