Waking up on my 39th birthday

Yellow white light, unknown birds,
first sight, first sound, first
day of my fortieth year.

Somehow, my boys also woke
naturally , sparing me the normal
morning routine, the horrible beep, beep, beep.

Happy birthday, Mama, from the fifteen year old
girl I never see. Happy birthday, Mom, from the small boy, seven,
sockless, descending stairs, otherwise fully dressed.

Happy birthday, Mommy, from the big boy, ten,
with a kiss. And O! the small boy announced,
It is Poem in Your Pocket Day!  I am shocked.

After four decades, this much bliss!
We found and pocketed four poems,
walked four ways into morning, into this.


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