i have seen the edge. walked right up to it, lookedover. i have looked into the abyss and it welcomed me. its maw is deep and wide and it welcomed me. come, it said. step over the edge. or don’t but i am here for you when no one else is. i will wait for you. I know you will be back.
teeth bright and sharp white and cold. keep hold of what’s good. that’s all there is to save me that’s all there is flashes of all the good things
grasping at anything to pull me back from this edge. grasping at them smashing them into my brain shoving out this other look away. look away.
“I don’t know how it’s possible, but I, I think my birthday this year was possibly the best one I’ve ever had. It’s certainly one of the most special, and I want to thank everyone for being a part of it. 52 on 5/2 I’m certainly not playing with a full deck it’s more like a deck full of jokers. So thank you everyone for being part of it.”
for the record (and as far as i know you look it up if you don’t believe me) for the past fifty-two years it has been shitty exactly once on my birthday. That was 2001, the year I turned 33 and one of the years I was in and around dating Noel. I’m sure he had just recently broken it off again. Anyway.
my parents built the house I grew up in in 1970. A typical, split-level ranch. Right outside my bedroom window they planted this glorious cherry tree, a Kanzan Sakura, with the big, fat, pale pink marshmallowy blossoms. I love that tree, it’s my favorite flower of all. Blooms every year on my birthday.
I don’t remember how early on but it was early, Itold Gary that when I finally owned my own home I would plant one of those trees in my yard. The first spring that we were in the house we planted our tree. We didn’t plant it in a good spot, it didn’t get anywhere near the kind of sunlight it needed underneath the massive canopy of maple and oak. I could, however, see the blossoms from my bedroom window.
Last year, after the house went into foreclosure, I knew that would be my last birthday with that view, of cherry blossoms from my bedroom window. And then the neighbor went ahead and chopped down the maple and oak, that gorgeous canopy of green that had been protecting my head for 13 years. A full backyard of sunlight meant that the cherry tree would have a chance to grow properly now, reaching up towards the sun instead of slinking around corners to find it. Only I wouldn’t be here.
This year however, with the world on pause, I got one last, magical reprieve to spend with my tree. So I went to my backyard, prepared to see admirers as any queen would, and enjoyed my day under the cherry blossoms.
from where I sit I can see the pleiades. like the teensiest, tinsiest, littlest dipper The brightest thing in Taurus I am the brightest thing in Taurus.
i am high and the stars are high (about 25° above the horizon) Venus is setting.
There is more light pollution here than at the old place (the old place. the no-more place.) It’s okay, so far. As the year turns the trees will provide a new canopy a different canopy
I know the cherry trees must be budding, if not already trying to bloom I drive past half the time and yet I do not make time to notice I look at her body, tired. Wanting winter to finally be over. Knowing that spring only ever always brings uncertainty, fear. Leaning in anyway.
Logan and Po’boy are having some conversation on the other side of the street. A fairly heated discussion, to be sure, though not necessarily escalating into argument territory.
Logan, still making his case as the older boy remains quiet, perhaps checking the bushes for bones, (I don’t know, I’m all the way back here, how could I see?) mouthy and insistent, bright and bold. His strategy works; Po’boy interjects a few half-hearted *woofs* then a few more, weaker, then quiets.
The neighborhood is quiet, save for the low hum of the recycling plant on the edge of the city, varied bird calls (the only one I know for sure is the crow atop the tree two yards over), and a few passing cars.
Po’boy renews his half of the conversation with confidence and vigor, however, Logan is nowhere to be heard.
Five more inquisitive barks from Po’boy, then three more.