It’s coming up upon my birthday. On the day itself I have four hours of training in stuff people should just know. And then, on the weekend, HP is planning me a surprise party. I know this because he is not sneaky. We share a workspace at the jobbie job, and he wrote down some of my best friends’ phone numbers on a pad, and I put two and two to come up with four. I’ll take it. This has been a hard year, and I’ve earned it. I’m going to quick-poem about that, and then get back to my weekend.
This has been a hard year full of lessons, ones of patience and gratitude, and of pranks. You found me lost in the the skin, and the touch is savior, the touch is big love and waiting, waiting for healing. This is a year of stumbling to joy, weeping, deranged even, shuddering on until dawn. This is the year of limbo, of purgatory and of healing, this is the year of my origins, merely frightened to the quick and understood. This rotation has been a freefall, deep with effort and supple graces. This is the year of wisdom, of long womanhood, of great care and cavernous learning. This is the rounding of light keystrokes in the birth night, this is the long gestation of things held latent, it is the pushing out of love into the air, this is the milk of life drunk long and creamy, like children do. This orbit is a child playing, it is an instant ministry and a long-forgotten mystery, this year was my initiation, long time coming, to the world of adults.
That was quick and fun, and I’m not sure what it means, except that I always feel about the same as I did when I was seventeen. So, maybe life comes in halves? Happy Saturday, poemfriends.