for Mandy Meyer
Today, the tin roof sings torrential rain
but the lilies bloom in the vase and
it's my birthday.
But it's your day, too.
Not just because it's a Monday
and Mandy has a similar sound
it's just that September could've been June
and maybe you'd still be in Texas.
My students made me a card.
"Happy Birthday, Ms. M," it read,
and since we share the same initials
that card is meant for the both of us.
I'm twenty-five today,
and, oh, the numbers of things.
Twenty-five years old
and nearly twenty-five days ago we sowed
your twenty-five-year-old seeds into the earth
and covered them with flowers.
Maybe even lilies.
The similarities really are startling.
Like river reflections
I'm in the sun, and you're drowning.
I dodge rocks that ripple your currents
and erode all the rest.
My mountaintops- your valleys,
because, although reflections mirror the same lines,
smiles and frowns are two different entities,
and I'm sorry we didn't save you.
That forces greater than us all
condensed into pebble-sized shape
and capsized all boats in those waters.
And it's true, Mandy, that you don't know what you have
until it's gone.
Until I'm in your living room just next door
eating finger foods and talking to your grandparents about you
in the past tense
And as I sift through river-bottom sand
seeing only sadness
I'll remember your beauty.
I'll imagine you,
standing nearby,
with the weight of your face lifted,
your burdened heart, finally soothed.
Today, the tin roof sings torrential rain
but the lilies bloom in the vase and
it's my birthday.
But it's your day, too.
Not just because it's a Monday
and Mandy has a similar sound
it's just that September could've been June
and maybe you'd still be in Texas.
My students made me a card.
"Happy Birthday, Ms. M," it read,
and since we share the same initials
that card is meant for the both of us.
I'm twenty-five today,
and, oh, the numbers of things.
Twenty-five years old
and nearly twenty-five days ago we sowed
your twenty-five-year-old seeds into the earth
and covered them with flowers.
Maybe even lilies.
The similarities really are startling.
Like river reflections
I'm in the sun, and you're drowning.
I dodge rocks that ripple your currents
and erode all the rest.
My mountaintops- your valleys,
because, although reflections mirror the same lines,
smiles and frowns are two different entities,
and I'm sorry we didn't save you.
That forces greater than us all
condensed into pebble-sized shape
and capsized all boats in those waters.
And it's true, Mandy, that you don't know what you have
until it's gone.
Until I'm in your living room just next door
eating finger foods and talking to your grandparents about you
in the past tense
And as I sift through river-bottom sand
seeing only sadness
I'll remember your beauty.
I'll imagine you,
standing nearby,
with the weight of your face lifted,
your burdened heart, finally soothed.
