Today is my birthday.

My mother’s voice sings,

“Happy Birthday” from my voice-mail.

When I was a child, she said

“You don’t get older until someone

sings the song,” and I

fight the absurd urge to shout,

“Stop!  You’re making me older!”

***

Such is the weight of a mother’s words.

My sons sing, “Happy Birthday” to me,

their three wee voices

intertwined in disharmonic joy, and I

clap, joyful…thankful, with

the weight of my power coiled peacefully,

for now, in my gut.

**

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