Sunday, April 27, 2014

your birthday poem

it goes without saying
this is not fun

i never imagined we'd spend this day
not spending it all
i could write about your beauty
your talents
the gift the world lost
but why bother
it makes no difference
there is nothing to celebrate
this day is a ghost
it is a damaged day
let me close my eyes
i see your slender hands
they are assembling a bouquet of weeds
you are smiling looking up at me
i take your picture
a group of misfits pass us on the old train tracks
it is a beautiful day
we put your flowers in a discarded sneaker
i take a picture
it was a perfect day
it's sad
that a moment such as this
would become so precious

so rare in the grand scheme of things