Birthday

I walk two preschoolers to school.
One racing ahead, screaming over his shoulder:
“I’m faster than you!”
The other, behind him with wind whipping around his brown hair:
“I can catch you!”

The sun touches the tiniest flowers in the grass.
The grass so green.
It hurts my eyes.

Later, a warm wet drizzle mixes with my sweat.
I run as fast as I can, which isn’t fast at all.
I talk with a friend.
We jog under trees and sky turning grey to midday sunshine.

I hobble home in elated pain.
I’m alive.
It’s your birthday.

I remember my age by our years apart.
So many years apart.
An arbitrary reference point.
Like a morning rain shower on a spring day.

To my brother. b. 5/13/69
To my brother. b. 5/13/69
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