This year the non-native ornamental
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| This Year's Birthday Blossoms (barely) |
two weeks early during a heatwave
and shed its frilly white-pink flowers
last week in a windstorm and last nip
of freezing air. Each year I take a selfie
beside or under my stubby tree
and her profligate ornamental bursting
on this, my birthday, the first day
of spring, a national holiday in Japan
(where they also love cherry blossoms)
and this year Eid a--Fitr around the world.
For years I embraced the myth
that one could balance an egg on its fat end
at the exact minute of the equinox
then learned that you could that on a Tuesday or
any day or time with the right egg and a steady hand.
My mother says it was snowing the morning
I was born in a northern city
on the first day of spring, so I let that
be a metaphor for something
and sometimes there is still snow
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| Thick blossoms in early March |
into a relentless wispy greening toward summer.
We planted the cherry tree in memoriam of
a prognosis: my imminent death, which after
nine years is perhaps less imminent or maybe not
because who know how the divine mind goes?
I try not to read too much into the early blooming
and pre-birthday devastation of tree flowers (climate change
never-ending oil wars, the shitty way our countries
are ruled by the corrupt, all those cruelties we perpetrate
on the weakest among us) and just go with gratitude
for all the text messages reminding me I am loved
just go with this day's grace into the light coming
down through all the cracks, just go knowing
and knowing the answer to love is always yes
and more love
(PS: This day marks my 63rd trip around the sun...I am setting an intention to write at least 63 poems this year and make 63 pieces of art.)
