7.6 billion

I have been asked before

a million times

Who is your hero?

The first day of school

one year, and the next,

my teacher smiles

and places in front of me

the student survey with the

dreaded question—

And what do they expect me to say?

For me to recount the tale, perhaps,

of the man who had a dream;

or of the singer who was dragged away

from hers at twenty-two;

or of my parents, one of which had

driven me that morning,

drives me everyday;

And every single one

is an answer, and they're true—

but what even is a hero,

anyway?

Someone special?

Someone strong?

A role model;

someone with the superpower

to speak and be heard,

to make the difference?

As I walk my halting pace through life

I am surrounded by a forest of trees

that tower far above my four feet eleven inches

while I can only stand and marvel

at the sunlight filtering through the leaves,

crane my neck

to watch what I cannot reach;

The woman who hid her students in the cabinet

and took the bullet;

the stranger who told me she liked the pins

lining the side of my backpack;

the girl who stood and sang on a stge

having crawled out of the blackest Pit;

the stranger who tole me my mile time

was pretty good

and gave me a smile

that dragged me out of the ocean

my mind had become—

And those bullets, the bang-bang-bang of gunfire,

they spray without discrimination—

no hesitation, even for heroes;

But the trees are more bulletproof

than any titanium-gold alloy or metal suit;

I see the glint of red-white-and-blue

off a shield in my teacher's eyes, too;

And I can't think of anything more a superpower

than the way that new sprouts flourish

when the forest is singed clear

and the last dregs of smoke disappear

over the horizon.

There are 7.6 billion trees—

and each one of them

has grown at least one shiny leaf;

yes, even the ones burned and flaked by hatred—

And when I look up at the great

bullet-ridden canopy so high above,

my greatest wish is that,

though my height has remained the same

after one year, and the next,

I could grow that final inch

and make a leaf of my own

to shield those below

and drag them out of their oceans,

give them the seeds they need

to have their own dreams.