birthday for an 86-year-old

Sinks that look like hot tubs.
Pebbled linoleum beneath my feet.

If I close my eyes,
I’m still in Oregon—
But this is a retreat.

The road noise is the ocean
The flags still wave toward, not away

I wonder how long it will take me
To love myself enough to stay

Inside, a gaggle of waists
The years have been kinder to

And then there’s me.
And you.

Excusing ourselves from the table full of sweets

Return to real
Doesn’t seem to be the deal we struck

That’s our dumb luck.

But did you see how the clouds move ever so slowly against the robin’s egg blue sky?

I know you feel cursed by the meat of your thighs
—And a mandarin aside in the restaurant block they just call “Asian”—
But,

You’re still as handsomely devilish as the day you first ate my mother’s deviled eggs in the dish we only brought out on special occasions.

You are a special occasion.

And I think that your body is worth celebrating.

It got you here. And there.

And up trees and laid bare
On top of me

for the first time

Don’t you see how lucky we are just to be alive?