This week’s poem, late due to technical and practical glitches is a philosophical musing on an approaching birthday.

Time is now

Another birthday approaches,
month is here, day grows near,
and I’ll grow intimate with a new,
more senior year.

Niece expects a baby soon,
my sister will be a grandmother,
posts pictures of beautiful bulges,
and knitting rediscovered.

My mother, a great-grandmother.
The aging must take care of the older;
twice removed from childhood
but reminded of the joys, the noise.

I am mother to men, not boys,
they, part of worlds without me
as guide, addressing authorities
without me as translator.

Passing time reveals many things
that don’t matter much,
and some that do, which are
surprisingly few.

Bangkok 2014