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My Birthday,The Calendar Speaks

Since January 4, 1951**********
(Written for the Shanks, the Youngs & Jim)
“...Raging glory...Forever young...”. Bob Dylan
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The calendar speaks
Of this day, seventy years ago, when
   I was born.  Around 6 p.m.. Wearing a crown 
Of thick, black  hair.  And a never-stop smile,
   Instilled to fight the blues.  I will not

Want to imagine my mother in the pain of birth...
Only her joys in holding a daughter.  My mom
Without any clues (thank God) to imagine all
  The pains and demands 
My growing would cause.  Over and over.

Whoever would have had the thought that
My growing would go on this long?  
Most likely, only God, who put the maps before me
   All along the way.  But, easily I can see
How his plan unfolded perfectly: 

From my doings to the coursings of my heart; 
From illnesses to ecstasies of  my spirit’s growth;
From palettes to pirouettes to poetry.

  Who would have prognosed I’d live this long?
Certainly not I.  From outrunning my mistakes
To fighting beasts; churning through shadows,
Longing always for the light;
Praying for friendships with angels, and to be 
Worthy enough to hear the psalms of Eden — which
Would have taken longer than this long — but,

Whoever would have guessed I’d live this long?
Not my doctors, not  my teachers, not my neighbors.
They never saw life’s lessons feeding me to scream
   Survival, then passion, and desperately to keep Knowing the smiles that blessed me from birth!

Thanks.  Thanks, then, to life and God, and 
Love, yes...
Love has held me all along.  Thanks, too, to
New Poetry soup friends, so great

********.       ************              ********
(c) sally Young eslinger for 1/4/2021
Thanks be to God
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