They handed me a slip blue ink on white

They handed me a slip, blue ink on white,

     my blood type written like a clue to my past,

     A+, a detail I’d always pushed out of sight,

     a whisper of biology, truths unsurpassed.

Now I know my letters, my essence in code,

     yet it sits heavy like a name I can’t claim,

     A+, a patch in the fabric I’ve sowed,

     another piece of the puzzle, still feeling the same.

What does it mean, this letter I bear?

     Am I more than just a type, a number to count?

     Am I defined by the cells that make up my air,

     or do I stretch beyond, beyond what they mount?