Who Am I Where? Imitation

At the Ferry Building, I am the little girl zipped into My dad's vest, grinning from the base of the Gandhi statue. On Chestnut Street I’m that sixth grader, too scared of being Judged to walk two blocks alone. I might run Into someone. In Pacific Heights I climb the two flights of stairs to my grandparent’s Apartment, challah in hand. I smell chicken floating through the air. In the Presidio, I can’t decide if I’m hot or cold and it’s too Windy to see past my waves of hair. In Golden Gate Park, all I can think of is Covid. The six-feet-apart Blanket set-up in Hellman Hollow. On Sunset Boulevard, I am the tired eighth grader on The damp bus. On Santa Paula Avenue, I am at peace in the comfort of my Cousins’ kitchen. In Noe Valley, I am amazed by the miniature Christmas display In the window of Noe Valley Bakery. In the Richmond, I am comforted by the familiar storefronts, The places they used to serve pizza on tinfoil. The Feeling of biting in. I know all of Lake Street. I travel back and forth, every foggy morning, Every slightly sunnier evening home. On 27th Avenue, I feel the turns home, even half asleep I know We’re almost there. At Baker Beach, I am calm while I watch my dog run in And out of the frigid water, Until I see a seagull. On the bridge, I feel a sense of freedom, escaping the fog. After a Little bit, I crave the cold.

In San Francisco, I am at home. I am still the same little Third grader amazed by the skyline lit up At night. I am still the same kindergartener clutching the laundry holder In my car while we drove down the steep, steep hills of the city I love.

Anonymous

Poetry