Happy Birthday to, well, sarah

Today is my 53rd birthday.
Since last year I THOUGHT I was 53 (until October when Jack made me do the MATH) I'm now as old as I thought I was.
Sometimes I get very sentimental over birthdays. Sometimes I'm just not as interested.
I made it, this was my first thought on another birthday. Way past the 40 I could never see beyond, far past my usefulness
I'd reflect on the year, but the day's hotter and my eyes are bothering me. So I can't see backwards well enough to the good parts of the days.
The kids are making me dinner.
This is really great because having them all together is a precious, precious commodity.

a tune:



poems, not mine at the moment:

Birthday by Sukasah Syahdan

clouds over Jakarta sky
conceal the midnoon sun
of my birthday 

Crossroads
by Joyce Sutphen
The second half of my life will be black to the white rind of the old and fading moon. The second half of my life will be water over the cracked floor of these desert years. I will land on my feet this time, knowing at least two languages and who my friends are. I will dress for the occasion, and my hair shall be whatever color I please. Everyone will go on celebrating the old birthday, counting the years as usual, but I will count myself new from this inception, this imprint of my own desire. The second half of my life will be swift, past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder, asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road. The second half of my life will be wide-eyed, fingers shifting through fine sands, arms loose at my sides, wandering feet. There will be new dreams every night, and the drapes will never be closed. I will toss my string of keys into a deep well and old letters into the grate. The second half of my life will be ice breaking up on the river, rain soaking the fields, a hand held out, a fire, and smoke going upward, always up.

a  wish:

for some time

See my Mrs. Puglisi's 100 National Standards