My Birthday Present to Myself


I can remember you like it was yesterday

The tilt of your face, your movements, your pauses

The scent of your breath on the cool air

The way your hair caught the sun in its tangles

How you could feel so small in my arms

While at the same time being bigger than whole worlds.

 

We all ache, find and lose eachother

Time blurs the edges of bodies

Gives a patina to people and places

Every kiss, every touch, every glance or word or silence

Another scar to mark itsĀ remembrance on the tapestry of skin and hear and mind,

Textures of joy, loss, regret, left to be fingered.

 

We are the sum of the parts others leave with us

Scraps and patches of places we once were

Hair and fingertips, laughter, sighs, moans, a lip print

Sidewalks, front doors, night skies

Sewn up in ragged finery, all the small things to make the whole

Defined by that which we left for the other

Friends, lovers, family

All the finger prints of touching or being touched.

 

I can tell the story of my life

In the feel of skin, the scent of fresh flowers

In echoes and silences between waves and thunders

All of me wrapped up in thousands of little threads

That bind all of me to all of them, of you

Where I exist as only the memory of someone you once knew

Laughed with, cried to, or held up with strength of limb, or heart or quiet solace

This is how I wish to be, all of the pieces of me woven from the pieces of you,

All of you, those who have been and those yet to be.

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2 Responses to “My Birthday Present to Myself”

  1. Wonderful. It says it all beautifully.

  2. So, I can give you poetry for your birthday?

    I take a rake
    and beat a snake
    until it break.

    Happy birthday!

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