Birthday

I’m sure someone, somewhere
has a present for me…
and each racing tear
cheering with escape,
glistened her a Birthday chant,
elated as she smiled
through their fall.

The post brought one card,
a month back,
from the mental home,
and it’s spreading feet
clinched the best view
of her tiny, iced room.

Fluttering in-between
window snow flurries,
an elder’s mind grasps at yesterday,
as slowly, a teenage melody warms the air,
rejuvenating some tranquil love affair,
long shackled in the darkroom
of her lonely album.
Around she floated,
bustling on a gust of dreams,
alive and twinkling
from a feast of bygone eclipses
with her Sunday love.


Jerry Pike