Another Year

OK, so birthdays are not
such a big deal to some people,
but yours I must celebrate.
Do you know your age
is the same as
the year of my birth? 51?
These little things
hold significance for me.
How could I know
at the age of four
you were being born
into the world and would
someday enter my world
and save my life?
If only I had a small window
to see your happy baby face
to hear you clap your hands
in patty cake when your mother
played and made you the darling
you are today. I would have
known to wait and be
less afraid of all the slaps
that were not play
but came my way.
I did not know, you were
already here, a short ride
in the family station wagon
would have brought me to your door.
But I would still have been alone
before we bumped together
all those years later,
joined in such frenzied passion
we were both amazed each morning
that going to work was only
an afterthought and I waited
breathless and safe for your
sure return. Bad things evaporated.
Do you wonder that I celebrate
each measurement of time
since the day you were born
and tie happy ribbons to each
minute of your smile?
I celebrate with more light than candles
the life I still manage to find
each day because you caught me
when I was falling from the ledge
I had crawled out on
to escape the pain of me,
and I have never left your arms.
Everyday is cake.