NaPoWriMo #17

trE

43

Playing with the camera. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

birthday tip-toed into
the morning sun shadows, greeted me with open arms,
and begged me to get
up and play with it.

one more year is here to
plaster me in hope and grind
me down to a newer version
of myself I’ve been shelving for
decades.

I tell it I’ll surrender under
one condition, and that’s if
it’ll give me fifteen minutes
in a room with my dead
cousin, unbothered by a
world that keeps shifting
with every breath I take.

it’s an interrogation of sorts;
how I attempt to negotiate
getting older and being
happy while doing it, instead
of drowning myself in
sadness.

“I’m better now.
I’m healing.
I’m giving myself the
grace everyone says I
should.”

and time is offering me
an extended contract
with every bell and whistle
I prayed for, and I don’t
know if I should sign.

but there’s hope for
me yet.
I’ve made it to 43, and
I do not feel the same.

“This is good”, I tell
myself.
“This is very good.”

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