Poetry

Birthday

Here is your day again,

a coin spun bright in the air,

catching the light as it turns.

Where are you now?

Time was always yours.

A watch wound tight on your wrist,

your fingers tracing the hours

like a palm-reader searching for fate.

I wonder if you still count the minutes

in heartbeats, in breaths, in small

beautiful disappearances.

I wanted to say your name

as if it had not been packed away

with the winter coats,

folded carefully into a life

that no longer fits.

I wanted to send you a gift

wrapped in quiet.

A morning without shadows,

a night without the tug of ghosts.

But not anymore.

I give you instead

a memory lit like a candle,