For My Friend On His Birthday
A decade later,
I am still making your scrapbook
illustrated by high school memories
and the stories you tell me.
I flip through,
watch you turn
from a smoking rocket schoolboy
to a buzzed head and brittle armor
to a corduroy garden feminist
to a color-outside-the-lines academic
to international teacher.
The pages curve at the bottom corner;
I never get tired of watching.
I can’t remember the last time
I saw you on your birthday,
but I always remember, anchored
by the 17 it shares with mine.
I play a Jeff Buckley song
and remember lying on the floor
letting his voice ripple through the room.
It is like we say when we talk –
it is always the right time.
I think of your storms
and of the beautiful moments of calm.
I think of your tree rings,
how your circle holds a little more
with every passing year.
Each character is more compassionate
than the last,
every rebirth more courageous.
I read through
when I need to know I contain more.
I read you
to remember to be brave.