I was lower
than the bottom of the ocean
when my disfigurement destructed
the skin above your tiny, ten-year-old femur.
You were certain the doctor
was a monstrous iceberg
when he birthed
me up. I am the scar
that stopped you from wearing
at the beach
because I carved ugly
into your veins
and arteries. Mini shorts at school were forbidden
in case a student jeered louder
than a dolphin if I crept
beneath your hem. So careless. Your family would exhibit
me, prouder than a gold medal won
at a surfing competition
and it would make you feel like vomiting over every person
who made you go into another room
to look at me because you did not have the power
to say no.
But one day you found a pearl.
Beneath me lived the Great Barrier Reef.
The murky bone
by the belligerent tumor
transformed into mysterious jagged sea coral
from the ocean’s shallow waters.
swimming inside your femur
to create a home for their offspring.
I was no longer the tsunami
you were certain
would ruin your life.
You were free from the storm
you had no choice to weather.