Imagine the Unrealities
I’ve chased my tail for thirty-seven years,
September. And I would do us all well,
my night of whittling wicks to waxen tears,
to blow my wish that truths be lies we tell
and birth a better version to review:
The song for birthdays all my daughters sung,
all three at once and all together, too -
(a glint of giggle as I’m backwards flung
and turned in somersaults across the room)
- I’ve never made it past the birthday song
when sung by conjured singers, once presumed,
where all is and was and all I am is wrong
to think September I’ve a right to face
while playing “pirate ships” in outer space.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2019
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