P.S. 7 Who am I?

Who am I?

The too-early child of a nurse and a doctor,

I am from Grady hospital's white wing.
I am from a house on a hill,
from copperheads in the lawn,
from a cul-de-sac,
from a suburban acre
in the piney woods.

I am from
the magic word and
the golden rule,
from "Oh, I'd like to thank the Lord,"
from "Have you done your homework yet?" and
Mahalia at Christmas.

I am from
Yellow roses in a yellow room,
from the nighly stock report,
from Hotlips and Radar.

I am from
the backyard basketball court,
Sunday soccer games after church,
the volleyball gym.

And I am

a child of the seventies,
of Watergate and
Add-a-beads.

I am
a woman in love
with a woman.

I am
of the Land of Starbucks,
the Mountain,
and the U.

I am
a teacher in schools
where brown rain falls through the ceiling.

I am
a survivor:
two brain tumors, three surgeries, six weeks of radiation.

I am the woman down the street
who walks with a cane.

I am a daughter,
a sister and a cousin,
a niece and an auntie,
a writer,
an adventurer,
a friend.

"I contain multitudes."

Mediocre in Spanish,
child of Senora Alissa Lopez,
Romero y Father Grande.

I aspire

to courage
and kindness
and right.

I aspire
to wander beyond the boundaries of
Who I am and
Where I am from.