Birthdays

There's a day in Fall
that belongs to you.
If I wake up
on the wrong side of the Himalayas
or the wind from the Baltic
is freezing my fingers
and I'm far from home
or not, I'm a ball while
dawn stretches its tendrils-
no fall here, just a dimming;
any place:
I know it's your day.
In my head
we're eleven or fourteen
or twenty one
we're rushing to class
or to a movie
together,
away
from us.
Your memory
tethers.


There's a day in Winter
that belongs to you.
I think of you-
keep you in a safe place
tuck your sleepy morning face
with my hand
under a pillow
and I wait.
Outside it's snowing slightly,
and the trees are stripped bare.
In the night, the bright neon
outside my window
reflects your silences.
I remember how you liked
that video- Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds-
I forget to call one year.
Maybe two.
But there's a day in winter
that always belongs to you.


Silence isn't forgetting-