I love, at large events when the tiny countries come up to play.
I never fail to notice.
Watching with rapt attention as the Namibian ice skater comes to the floor,
in borrowed skates made white by a fresh coat of shoe polish.
Who didn’t have the benefit of blue ribbon training camps, or corporate sponsorship,
Whose mother sewed the sequins on herself, while she stood listening
to her talk about her sister’s day in the laundry.
I watch closely as she takes the ice and everyone waits for the music to begin.
I sit on the edge of my chair, my breath in drawn.
I guess that you could say that I’m a sucker for lost causes,
Waiting for the moment when the girl from nowhere strikes the winning pose.
When someone who had no chance in the race passes the leaders in the final mile.
It makes the victory sweeter to know that stubbed toes and love
can beat money and the worlds expectations.
It makes me want to believe, that I might make it too if only I rose to my feet.
I would brush the dirt off of my tattered shoes to find that they are secretly made of gold.