The Birthday Poem
by Calliope Jones
4.7(260)
Today
you are one year
closer
to something—
not death,
not wisdom,
not the person
you planned
to be by now,
but something.
Birthdays
are strange holidays.
We celebrate
the one thing
we had
no part in—
arriving.
As if showing up
was the accomplishment.
(It was.
Showing up
is always
the accomplishment.)
Make a wish,
they say,
over fire
on a cake—
which,
if you think about it,
is a very strange
ritual
for a species
that is afraid
of both
fire
and wanting things.
Here is what
I wish for you:
not happiness—
that's too heavy
to carry
every day—
but moments.
The coffee
that's perfect.
The joke
that lands.
The morning
you wake up
and the first thought
is not
a worry.
Happy birthday.
You survived
another year
of being
a person.
That deserves
a cake.
That deserves
a candle.
That deserves
someone
to look you
in the eye
and say:
I'm glad
you were born.
165 words · 46 lines · Free Verse