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.