O is for October

O, Olivoyle

A little girl of great will

O, Olivoyle, do you know, my little niece, how very special and unique you are?

You are the youngest, the baby of the cousins, but left behind is something you would never be.

Hidden in someone’s shadow? I don’t think that was ever a concept to you. Not you, my little niece. My little Olivoyle.

You brilliant, little thing. The only one who 100 percent refused to use sign language as a toddler.

Not because you couldn’t, but because you wouldn’t.

Because you wanted to express your right to have a choice.

To show you have a will of your own, and you would not be broken.

Even that young, you would rather not get what you want than to sign, “Please,” or, “More,” and give the grown-ups what they wanted.

And I said, “This will serve her well one day.”

O, Olivoyle, my little niece, you are not little anymore.

But you’re not even out of college and you’ve already shown the right people what you can do and how well, without skipping a beat.

And all while climbing and leaping off cliffs.

Perhaps, Olivoyle, that day when you were so small, and you jumped so high that you touched the ceiling, that was your higher self telling you that you were going to soar in this life.

My heart soars with you.

Love, Titi

I am contributing this piece to Paper Poetry’s “O is for October” prompt —