Twenty-One Birthdays (plus two)

Okay, so today is my 23rd birthday, so leading up to it, I wrote a bunch of birthday poems. The poem ends with number 21, because that's a more poetic number to stop at. That being said, a quick read will show that I've skipped several in the middle because I JUST CAN'T REMEMBER! Mom, you can help me out with this maybe? Anyway, I may repost this once I have more parental input. Still, I hope you like at least one of the poems within, if not the poem as a whole (there is an overall theme in some sense). If you'd like to comment on which poems you liked best (or any other comments), I'd also really appreciate it. Enjoy!

Twenty-One Birthdays

I.

Once I had a memory

that I didn’t know was darkness

until I fell into the light.

I’m told I cried,

shaking every appendage

and gasping air

I had never yet breathed.

Today, nobody sees it, but change

is still a tunnel I should not resist.

II.

The unknown last year

cradled in my lush vale. Then

home slipped east downstream.

III.

The home was building

stairs to replace steep ladders

to hidden attics.

We dwelled on an edge island,

and I didn’t know by then

what to remember.

IV.

Three little piggies

and I was pink plump

watching the puppets

with my playmates

beside the prizes

by the fireplace,

there was even a fireplace

playing within me.

V.

We were ninjas, jumping down rolling green hills,

spinning through the uncut hay grass,

dizzy between the flitting sky and dirt,

but mostly with our eyes closed.

We were turtles, diving in a green pond,

dodging the algae and the dying yellow leaves,

then scattering tadpoles at the narrow beach,

that strip of sand too small for all of us.

VI.

We all had shimmering skin

having slid down water slides

all day. Summer Waves, the park

was full back then with remnants of summer:

adults bustling and children swimming

in the undulating wave pool, sinking beneath

or staying afloat with plastic yellow donuts.

I guess that was the last of the late autumns;

I find that place strewn with emptiness

and the shadows of stray kids grown older.

VII.

Or was this the year of the water park?

My family gathered beneath a white gazebo, beside

a round table and a round cake, to squeeze

icing through design nozzles and plastic

white sheets. Even a mess can be a work of art,

and this dessert sucked us in, much like a vacuum

searches for anything to replace the empty space,

even memories.

VIII.

An east coast Huntington Beach,

I was drawn to the ocean,

drawn as well as

the green eight dollar bill cake,

filled with pennies, nickels and dimes,

that my mother laid before us

to sink our teeth in.

IX.

Like bright wrapping paper,

bursting with yellow and orange circles,

I wanted to save this until I

grew up, as a reminder of

fruitful days.

If only I could rewrap this

head, and make it new,

nothing would be wasted.

X.

My sisters baked a cookie, so large

it filled the square pan,

every inch now

crust and chocolate,

hot and crisp,

ready to served.

But they let it cool, and drew with icing,

basketball hoop and netting,

well weaved by their hands

to toss a ball inside,

a point to make,

a goal to achieve.

XI.

This time we slid down the backyard hill, nothing like

the mountains of Vermont, but then again,

we weren’t trying to slide through time,

like I am, today.

The purple plastic slide, the hose, the bubbles, nothing

could make us go so fast. Even so we leapt

forward, and didn’t mind the mud at

the bottom of the moment.

XII.

New school year, new school, no new friends,

the curse of autumn birthdays.

And yet,

without trying,

I know of two friends

who would’ve been by me.

Though the flame burns quickly,

the candles on the cake grow slowly

each year.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

I still have the picture we took on the back porch,

filled with brown leaves, my friends, and I

heaped around the green ping-pong table,

like the piles of leaves,

before they dried out.

XVII.

This was the year it began,

the sense of years leaving me behind,

and the birthday a monotony of back and forth,

like the game of ping-pong

we played, the four of us.

two friends,

and the friend of a friend.

XVIII.

A quiet family affair,

my best friend also, and his mother.

We sat around the dining room table

where once we played underneath,

and giggled as we pasted stickers to the table legs,

we now kept our legs crossed,

and our laughter visible.

XIX.

My brother and sisters had left home

and though we celebrated early

my new year, I was also leaving

to Japan; the turnings of the sun and moon

past midnight happened somewhere

over the deep Pacific ocean.

I also was continually sinking

in and out of sleep

within a pressured darkness.

XX.

And then a smell rustled me awake in Spain,

in a ancient town of La Mancha,

four windmills stopped on the local hill.

Cinnamon and Maple syrup,

my friend made me French Toast,

took me out for pizza,

and bought me New York Cheesecake.

I’ve been around the world and found

warmth at the core.

XXI.

I didn’t care that nothing

special happened

and no one noticed.

Then, I went about doing good

and forgetting myself.

In truth, I didn’t wear a smile for show.

Then, it felt like I was growing older

at the turn of every week

and growing in family.

I've understood by now; my new years

begin with autumn.

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(P.S. This is 800+ words, enough to be a two page paper)