i turned a year older yesterday
and for the first time I didn’t feel sad.
I felt happy and content,
as if something in my life
finally made sense,
from the relationships I made
to the ones I lost
even those that were never meant to stay.
is that why for the first time
in a very long time
i only have good things to say
the years have tempered my anger and resentment
the realization that i’m far from perfect settling like fine wine
and right now it’s your birthday
and all i wish is to have a drink with you one last time
i’ll listen to you tell me your stories, and when the mood hits
(and it always does), sing your favorite songs
they all say i inherited your smile and your laughter
how i wish we could right all the wrongs
but no one can tell us who to love
sometimes, our minds are simply not as strong
to stop what the heart wants and whoever it desires,
for even the biggest hearts end up getting it all wrong
but that’s okay. i’m finally old enough to know
that you did your best and that i did, too
going through this life walking such different paths
without you knowing who i really am, or me knowing you.
facebook told me it’s your birthday today
and so i quickly typed out a post to wish you
a fantastic day
but something told me to check your page first
where i found out you died fourteen months ago
and my bubble burst
how could i not know that you’ve been gone all this time
all while planning to see you again and say hello
just like the good old days…
how could i not know?
you were only forty-five, brin, way too young to go
i can still remember you telling me to stop driving
that little car while i was pregnant
oh the things you knew that i did not know
yet you trusted me all those years, too
how we laughed at the stories we both told
as we spent those afternoons believing
life had so much to offer us
as we’d both grow old
with our vices and our sins…
how could i not know?
i missed your birthday four days ago
even though I’d made a mental note the day before
to remember it and say a prayer for you
but that day came and went, just like the year before
I still have the travel clock you brought home one day
it still ticks and tocks all through the night
i used to know what time it was wherever you were
until the day you died, alone and contrite
that clock is all i have of you now
it’s the only thing you left behind
along with the secret life you lived the entire time
the truth your children deserved, denied
so i’ll let your birthday come and go
maybe i’ll light a candle if i remember
i still think of you with every tick tock of that clock
did you ever think of us or were we simply a bother?
for my birthday, i want a bookcase
where i can live a different life
page after page
each treasured book a sweet escape
never one to lose my place
for my birthday i want a home
where i can live and not be afraid
like i always am
each day the same unflinching reality
another unfulfilled life on the lam
for my birthday i want to be happy
for life will be short
from here on
i’ve fallen far from where i started
but from this moment on, I’ll be reborn
Today would have been your birthday
though I don’t remember how old you would have been,
the years since you passed away marked by poems
of things not felt and sights not seen
dulled by the years of living a lie
Was that your life, too,
just before you died?
When I first drew Frida and posted the sketch on my family FB feed, many family members had no idea who she was – which is unfortunate because Frida Kahlo was a woman way ahead of her time. She painted through her pain and limitations and one of her famous quotes goes, “Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly.”
She seemed to love Diego Rivera unconditionally, despite his…well, flaws. I remember coming across her diary, published long after death, of course and while the entires were so raw my soul ached, I could never get myself to buy it. Her paintings told me enough. At least they were her diary in a way, painted for all to see.
There are peonies in my house today,
their petals all abloom,
so soft, and so ethereal,
casting their spell throughout the room,
bathing everything that I see
in such sweet delight.
Will they remain as radiant till morning,
or will they be spent after the long night?
Morrighan's Muse 