BIRTHDAY

I was the one who always remembered the dates
Of all the birthdays, the circling round of mother,
Sister, father, sister, me, and brother.
Seventy years at least were punctuated

First with hopes of party and presents, later
With bittersweet memories, finally nearly forgetting
The person, only a whispered unregretting
Click in the yearly wheel of aging nature.

This year was different. A whole week passed before
I felt the nagging strangeness, and suddenly
Recalled I’d missed my brother’s birthday, he
Who died just f1fty-one years ago in the war.

So item by item in mind after mind he fades
And departs to join the unnumbered once-loved shades.

(111, June 18, 1993)

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