Sunday, September 25, 2011

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. 


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