I am from lake water, green and cool.
From sun glints on ripples
and deep life near the toes.
I am spinning girl in my yellow inner tube.
I am endless back dives and whispers under the raft.
I am from family, met and mystery.
From Farmers and Pioneers,
Veterans and Nurses and Postmasters,
Doctors and Artists and Judges,
Teachers and Ministers and Inventors.
I am from my mother's voice and smile,
from the blue of my father's eyes.
I am from lefse and red jello,
lemonade stands and library books.
From cartwheels and dandelion chains.
I am from hours reading perched up in tree branches,
skirts and legs dangling into the leaves.
I am from the wet pines of Oregon,
from snow lodges and slalom and finish lines.
From racing canoes into flocks of geese,
from trail mix and mountain tops.
I am from the wide sky of Chicago,
from worn stone and ivy and bike paths,
from the Magnificent Mile and Impressionist halls.
I am from bylines and picas, from the presses are rolling
and wirecopy, sources, beats and doglegs.
I am from the brave red dome of Firenze,
from tiny cappuccinos and Pace flags,
from sciopero signs and window seats.
I am from travel and transition, from knowing what's within
while rarely what's ahead.
Knowing I am from lake water, green and cool.