Cava.
Almandine garnet.
Ice-cream cake.
Shout and hollers.
Birth day of a day
seven years ago,
pushing twins from the inside
to the outside of my body and
today they see that a woman
kind of person can hold
the kind of power,
makes a whole city honk their horns
in celebration all day.
I drink champagne while sitting on the sidewalk,
where the funeral home director
used to say, “Hello, neighbor.”
The energy of the concrete
is a conduit for the energy of the earth below.
Everything is charged,
ready and activated.
I spent most of last night wrapping
gifts for this birthday
like it was Christmas and today is Christmas.
Today is Christmas.
Today is relief.
Today is the kind of Christmas
where people’s eyes meet above masks,
know one another,
in safety and kindness.
Car driver to pedestrian.
Flag waver to trumpet player.
Car roof sitter to friend.
Daughters of neighbors
and neighbors, dancing, dancing.
Me, holding my hands high into the air.
Me, walking, Kendrick in my ears,
horns overpowering my headphones,
remembering forward motion,
possibility. Me, shouting myself
into exhaustion, fist raised
at the semi truck
honking as it barrels past.