Birthday
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Passionate Undivided Fidelities

I used to fantasize about her dogs.

That probably came out wrong.

What I mean is that

I would walk in the park on clear October mornings

and imagine them chasing each other ahead of us

as we crunched arm in arm through the leaves

wearing cute autumn clothes.

In spring I passed a stand of cherry trees in full riot

when a sudden gust filled the air

with a victory parade’s worth of pink confetti

and they appeared from nowhere

darting and dashing and snapping at the petals like maniacs

while we watched from our picnic blanket and I played with her hair.

Mowing the lawn late one afternoon

my playlist included “Lover You Should’ve Come Over”

and my head cast them in a movie scene:

the two of us slow dancing at the end of a dock

against a backdrop of midsummer gloaming

staring into each other’s eyes

the frame of our closeup bounding both universe and time

until the spell is broken by the dogs

leaping into the lake beside us

soaking us with their splashing

our laughter lingering through the fade out.

I even dreamed of standing freezing at the door

in a sweater and underwear every morning of a long winter

while they did their business in the back yard

knowing I would soon be rescued by the softness and the warmth

of her bed and her arms and her lips.

In my heart they belonged to me just as much as she did.

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I had time and I didn’t have you so I thought maybe a garden

Some distraction in the patch of shade beside the patio

To keep me busy (as though busy wasn’t always the problem)

The plants were delivered as sleeping bits of bare root and

I placed them in brand new soil

Marked each with a plastic sign labelled in permanent green

Tucked them in beneath a blanket of mulch

Surrounded all with a little wall as if I was in control

I carried water from inside every day, three trips of two gallons each

Because the outside spigot didn’t work and penance feels good sometimes

Every day I got on my hands and knees with my eye to the ground

Watching for any sign of bright growth

It was the sort of thing I would self-mockingly document for you

And bathe in your delight at my details

After weeks the sprouting began and then anxiety flowered

Because squirrels and chipmunks like to dig and

Snails and slugs have late-night dinners and

Each morning I woke up to find a mushroom farm

I paid these problems to go away but still

Nothing grew taller than my hand before dying

Leaves curl and wilt the same with too much water or too little

Tricky business when the air is feverish and dry for weeks

Shallow planting or soil leached empty by the trees or

My trying to grow too late, as usual

All I know is I have a garden of little tombstones

And nothing to do but wait for the snow

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