happy birthday

the dawn of another year

delivers itself

wrapped in a package 

of quantitative measurement,

a specific set of decades

(three and one half, to be exact)

an undeniable doorway into a very new place

the sign overhead blinks “enter at your own risk”,

which is a laughable joke

because you have no choice,

you have to enter despite the risk.

it’s the only door there is.

and there you are, 

on the other side.

i’m there already 

and i see you  

in your slightly ill-fitting 

but somehow perfect

brown suit

leaning away from your table

legs wide apart

one arm draped over the top of an empty chair,

a proud statement about the collection of time.

maybe the chair’s occupant has disappeared from this room

and into another

twisting her curls

glossing her lips

making sure she matches your beauty.

you’ve thoughtfully placed your arm on the chair’s back

so she knows, when she returns

that she has a place beside you to belong.

maybe there is no she, 

no chair’s occupant,

and you drape your arm just so

to reserve a place in the world, in your life,

for something else. 

something else that you want to belong.

either way, 

there you are.

and i see you. 

the beautiful gold of your eyes 

seduces more completely than you realize.

the ghosts of Parisian past

can’t help but find you

can’t help but crave your company and affection.

and you see them.

every writer and artist and thinker

has found their way to you 

in your brown suit 

on your three- and- one- half- decades day.

a staggering beauty sits down in your empty chair

she wants to remind you that life is to be had, 

even though she can’t see hers yet. 

you do, though,

and you see her as she really exists,

sensual and still,

yet devoid of what it is you most crave.

but today

it doesn’t matter

today is a day of measurement 

a day of entering at your own risk

and you accept that,

with a playful smile

and a happy heart.

***

I dreamt this for you before your departure

because this is what i wanted to give you

this is how i wanted to see you, 

and now 

this is how i will remember you

in your slightly ill-fitting brown suit 

with your arm draped across an empty chair 

reserving a space for whatever is missing. 

acf