By Ivy Miller


When I was five, I wanted to be a doctor.

I didn’t know what the job entailed exactly

But I knew doctors used X-rays and instruments

To help the sick in ways most people could not


My sixth grade science project was on airflow

To demonstrate for my class I used a hairdryer

And made a ping pong ball hover in midair

I could move it around without touching it


I used to figure skate in the winters and wonder

If gliding over the ice was as close to flying as I’d ever get

I used to stare from the glass floor of the Calgary tower

At my purple sneakers so far above the sprawling city


At fourteen I bowed over paper and wielded my pen

And created what I could never be

I didn’t realize I ever wanted power

Until I became a god.


I was cleaning out my room today and found this gem dated August 22nd, 2015. Aside from a few tweaks and a rough stanza that I cut entirely, I was surprised to find I liked it. So I polished it up and posted it here for your reading pleasure.

It’s about how I came to write novels about superheroes, in case you were wondering.