This Is 49

A poem marking the occasion

Adulting in Ashland.

Today, a poem of gratitude for another birthday.

With love,

Carla

This is 49.

Friends at two tables cobbled together to form one. Rickety chairs and that salvaged table whose wood I lovingly restored for a day like today. Our umbrella holds us under its bough. The trees sway green bands of light. 

Bellies fill with crunch and stories, debate—snorts and laughter punctuate the air.  Your voices trill and lilt as I wash our dishes at the window before dessert,  crumbs disappearing in the suds.

It is just us here, safe. Welcome, love.

The sun sets lavender and gold, exhaling cool air. How I wish you could know what it means for life to show up in this way, brilliant clay of dreams fired and glazed, metallic spark of my heart, 
now made whole.