Thursday, May 28, 2020

"The Day After My Birthday"

The Day After My Birthday

Balloons, cards, cakes, candles, fireworks that won’t explode,
my mom and dad, aunt and uncle, alive again, returned to their childhood homes,
I can visit them if I remember, if I discover the way,
past the neon mall in Rochester where I sat on Santa’s lap when I was five,
strangers pass me on the street, wish me happiness, promise me gifts next time
like puzzling artifacts from dreams, a keyboard, a costume,
Tibetan monks swimming in a perfectly landscaped rock quarry,
the shotgun I told the detective to destroy,
a box of French lemons and Brazilian honey cake,
the sound of some party I can never find,
all tomorrow’s plans are cancelled,
the crossing of the river, the ferryman angel,
an evacuation, a journey.
This new life has begun.

©JEF

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