Tadpole, let me counsel you while you’re still
sheltered in the womb, while you’re losing your
long tail, wrapped in that wondrous interim
between going to be and once had been.
You’re going to find a bright blast of light
after leaving your dark home. Don’t fear it.
You’ll know the new one too. Ten sets of arms
will cradle you. So while you still suspend–
a water creature, a mermaid or -man,
an intention, man/God’s interception,
a four-limbed fish, a wish of the highest
order, a delicate replication,
cells dancing in a frenzy, the kindest
kiss of creation–just know that I hope
you the softest landing, it will be well,
we do protect you, and we will meet soon.
Katy Santiff has written poetry in various forms all her life. She believes in densely-packed poems, preferring them to be mouthfuls when read aloud. A lifelong Marylander, she loves water-side living. She currently lives in Edgewater, Maryland with her wife. Her published poems can be found in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine and Spillwords Press.