A forum of children

Shared with each other

The gifts

Of wisdom and love

Their mothers had given them. 

One shared how

His mother

Had given him

A beautiful rainbow trout. 

Another child shared

Her mother

Had given her

A large mouth bass. 

Yet another 

Had been gifted

A Wild Alaskan King salmon. 

And I listening. 

In that moment

The enemy tempted me 

Loudly 

Yet again

To dive headfirst

Into a pool 

Of shame

Of guilt. 

A whirlpool of:

“You didn’t do that.

You didn’t give 

Your children

Trout 

Or bass 

Or salmon. 

What you gave 

To your children

Was different

And therefore,

Inferior.”

And I stood

On the precipice 

About to take the plunge

Into the swirling waters

Of self-doubt

And self-criticism

And despair

That would surely

Toss me about

Like an unanchored buoy. 

And so I 

Desperate

Frantically scanning 

My surroundings 

For a hint

That a life preserver 

Might exist;

That it might save me

From my fate. 

And at the moment

I was about to leap

Into the icy waters

Into the turmoil

Of

“I didn’t do that”

Another voice 

Pierced the noise;

Still 

Small

Steady

Like an extended hand

It whispered:

“No,

You taught them how to fish.”