(Poem #459 on new numbering scheme)
Kay turned, saying, “My birthday was Saturday. Were you aware?”
Next to me, she pushed out from her desk, but not looking at me.
“I didn’t know.” Put my head down, sighed. So she said, “And my sister
died early Sunday. She still knew – in her coma – her deathday
shouldn’t be shared with my birthday.” Suddenly tears were appearing.
“I didn’t plan on this… why am I crying again?” I sat silent.
Gathering scattered cool remnants of calm, she returned to her work.
Just an odd, errant outburst of emotion disturbing smooth water.
Coda. I watched a small orangegold leaf twist, struggle, detach
float and then hang, now suspended against a wide orangegray sky,
held there in place by a wind that was blowing from somewhere quite far.
It was so strange. Maybe life’s endless terminations grant
sweeping perspective on things – if not hope – and so, pulling my eyes
down and away from the spinning dead leaf, in the end I keep walking.
