I am not sad today.
I am sad most days when I think of you.
The wound has lessened,
some days it is only the stretch of a stiff muscle
other days the frenetic darkness of a childhood's midnight closet
But not today.
Today is nearly spring and a crocus peeks out beneath
half-melted snow on my neighbors lawn
and the tentative leaf buds of the oak tree wave in the wind.
This day when I feel you most near,
lemon squares covered in sugar and tall stems of white wine.
A birthday party tonight.
The world is filled with you today
like a secret season,
gulls on my rooftop
begging for cake.
