IT IS TRUE (Poem)

Until cancer,

I constantly questioned myself

and doubted her.

Now on bad days, I remember

my ancestors had to learn to

survive the worst, too.

Pain ain’t nothin new.

In me,

their blood runs through.

It is true

that I am my grandmother

returned.

It is true that my thanksgiving

will be well-earned.

Fire

has the ability to burn

or refine.

Guess that’s why I

shine like a new dime

and age like fine wine.