birthday notapoem.

NB: letter to mar + portrait to follow. (when i'm not at work). (with people's... noises) (blame them for cutting this short)

___*___*___*

even this time , i can't decide if it holds any water

an imaginary line a clock or two trip over ::
here now ends.starts another walk around the park.

i always feel loved at the quiet dinners. the same words we've used all day
spin them around our cups and roll them out again

it's almost midnight. they know the score but ask anyway: will i call a girl or hava drink or what?

(i smirk. another of those questions we lose immediately down a drain and don't miss).


___*___*___*

i'm grateful for the lack of wind. _for once
i arrive with something in my lungs.

to be considerate i let my room sit on mostly in darkness.
we share tea and nod through the things our mothers sisters fathers tell us -
the same words we've used all our days.

when i smile for my sister i remember what honesty is ;

i don't know much about the circus-show. in the parking lot i meet my friends and what we have
we hide in our bones.
_____(good luck worms gnawing their names off)


___*___*___*

when she picks up: you remembered i say. her response settles it: mothers don't forget.

i had hoped she would. it would make me feel better for not knowing how to count days.

i wouldn't give you the satisfaction she says.

because i feel suddenly so completely loved i'm overcome with guilt for each of the allbirthdays i've (always)forgotten - all my lost chances to make someone feel like this delicious


___*___*___*

i lie , alone . : ' , _think_ .

compare it.

when women purrr.breathe through the night, _gradations in gravity
__it's a tide ,
_______warmth.. _and sound,

in four hours i'll get up again for work.
on sunday.
__(it seems appropriate to me that today is a sunday)


the clock reads 3:59pm.
_i edit what i edit. __check what i check. ___occasionally add a sentence.

you're going home alone and working tomorrow? she's a little appalled. howwhy?


___*___*___*

because at the fingertip of my 29th year,

perhaps for the firstest time , (( maybe it always feels like the first when it's fresh ))

at the liptip of my 29th year

i can finally stand. _upstraight.

and over beyond that curve there's a-something i can't imagine yet ,


___*___*___*

what's new.

these are our words , always been.

our days, a few of yours in my pack of cards, a few of mine in your wallet.

when i sleep in the cold i whisper mar's blanket:

____it could never have been anything else
____it could never have been anything else
____it could never have been anything else



(thank god).

__