Birthday sprinkles

I have been thinking a lot
about where I am
and who I am
and how I am,
and the gaps between my fingers,
and how I’ve grown

Years pass through a translucent looking glass
It doesn’t take me too long
to count to my age
And that makes me feel young and happy.

I think you become old
When it takes you a while
to count aloud to your age.

I hope in the future
I have wrinkles for every time I’ve smiled,
And you can see the joy on my face
in my skin.

The scuffs in the car
from friends,
and the seats,
and the paint on my jacket.
All of my marks
are beauty marks
of my life
and where I’ve been.

And the sand in my palms
when I return to the beach
where I grew up.

I think words
are my art form of choice,
are my personal music,
the ebbs and flows of my voice,
saying hello, reading a story, answering a question.

the sounds
are bountiful and poignant to me,
rhythmic
but precarious.

When I fall asleep
I look closely
to the dewdrops
on the windows.
They are glistening

The other day
I took the time
to count the grass blades
and feel the crisp edges,
the dead blades
intertwined with the alive,
in pairs interlaced
and wilted,
while others are breathing with life.
They are juxtaposed
and perfect.
I hope they stay that way.

Right now
I like the buildings,
and the symmetry,
and the simplicity
created by my footsteps
and my space
and time.
The opportunity
to lie around for hours
and take a mental picture.

To take my mental pictures
I often tell myself
I won’t forget this moment,
and blink
as if my eyes were the shutters
moving across the lens.
I have a few of those
I carry with me.

The only thing
I really miss from home
is the wind,
and the way it grazes my face.
I miss the patterns
I could feel,
how circuitous
the way it would pass
through my hair
and the fabric of my clothes
and all the way
to the pink hotel on the hill
past my house.
If only I had the time
to listen more closely.

I am religious in the sense
where to me
There is light in multitudes,
in people,
in a room,
a effervescent window,
and it’s in my lungs
When I take it in.
Not in one breath
but hyperventilating,
then steady and slow
for all of the years
and all of the moments.

The lights
and the car
and the grass blades
and the fingertips.
I feel it in my body,
a serendipitous IV drip.
It rocks me to sleep
in a field of flowers.

Beaming with joy
I am beaming
And there are stars
on my fingers.

People are very interesting
and surprise you.
Often, living feels effortless.
It wasn’t always that way.
I tell myself
things will unfold
like ocean waves,
tumultuous
in their song and dance,
releasing
and ferociously moving
the sand underneath.

I lost my glasses
a month ago,
so everything
has been a little blurry.
But I have learned
There are no sharp edges,
only collections of colors.
My eyes treat me tenderly.
I accept the things
that I want to see,
And I like it that way.