Waking up on my 39th birthday
Yellow white light, unknown birds,
first sight, first sound, first
day of my fortieth year.
Somehow, my boys also woke
naturally , sparing me the normal
morning routine, the horrible beep, beep, beep.
Happy birthday, Mama, from the fifteen year old
girl I never see. Happy birthday, Mom, from the small boy, seven,
sockless, descending stairs, otherwise fully dressed.
Happy birthday, Mommy, from the big boy, ten,
with a kiss. And O! the small boy announced,
It is Poem in Your Pocket Day! I am shocked.
After four decades, this much bliss!
We found and pocketed four poems,
walked four ways into morning, into this.