You Know All This

Usually I try
to write you a poem
for your birthday.
I’d hate to brake with tradition,
but what more can I say?
You are terrific,
just the right kind of quirky;
you are the ideal blend of
attentive and wildly independent.
You light my sky dawn to dusk,
and are bedrock under my feet,
sometimes pine needle soft,
sometimes jagged, strong granite.
You like snow and winter.
Your ceaseless creativity,
astute originality,
and candid expression
know no bounds.
You expertly navigate yourself;
your level of self knowledge
and self-management is exemplary.
You are cherished beyond words.
You know all this.
You are secure in my love,
and in no way circumscribed by it.
You are free and soaring,
solvent and saving,
knitting and reading,
teaching and driving,
and a whiz at jigsaw puzzles.
You buy a bassoon accordion
and go to jam sessions with it.
You buy a mountain dulcimer
and idly doodle round on it.
You wear an art deco
silver bracelet, inlaid
with coral and sugilite.
You like bespoke shoes,
librarians, long hair on guys,
burrata, smoked salmon,
raw bok choy, peppermint pretzels,
Maine, small towns, linen,
farmer’s market pastries,
hand sewing, fuzzy friends,
copious fountain pens
filled with just as many inks,
and taking long baths.
You give lectures on
Thermodynamics and Black Holes.
You make gougere,
tuna steaks for breakfast,
oven pancakes topped with
our homegrown raspberries,
fleece skirts and vests,
college quizzes and finals,
beaded masterpieces,
and elaborate journal pages.
You like and defend
time to yourself,
but still call me
most days.
I am so grateful for
every single moment you exist.
I don’t take you
(or our friendship)
for granted
for one single second.
You know all this.
Last summer,
we traveled together
to Turkey and Sardinia
and you helped me
on those hard hikes
never once making me feel
like a lumbering liability
because you could have
done it in half the time.
You were kind to me,
caring and solicitous,
without limiting me in any way.
Those world class treks
were a pinnacle of my year
that you made possible.
Thank you for that.
Thank you for being
irrevocably you, unvarnished,
unapologetically authentic,
and exactly true
to your own north star.
Thank you for being in my life.
And yes, you know all this.
Thank you for that too.
I’m glad you are coming home
and I’ll get to hug you
and feed you today
and sit around the fire
with you tomorrow.
Here’s to another
wonderful orbit around the sun!
May every perfect blessing
be yours, now and always.

by Polly Castor