By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
VICTORY LAP
When my father
looked at me
he saw the arms
he lost as a child
I never swam fast
or hit hard enough
to knock myself out of a match
I couldn’t win
When the tapes
are replayed in slow motion
I can forgive myself
for missing the handoff
If I had not dropped the ball
I couldn’t have carried myself down field
Rounded bases
home
Nor could I throw
my arms around you
papa
And let love
take the victory lap