Coming back to myself was
Your birthday
Sitting at the counter, watching you all in a busy kitchen:
Faye Webster on speaker
Pasta bubbling on the stove
Cream & strawberry sponge cake in the oven
Frosting-licked fingers & paper people cake toppers
My hands in dishwater
Coming back to myself was
Nothing more than a knowing smile
No ceremony, no discernible shift
Just new friends sitting on a new
floor, watching Ratatouille together –
Me, leaning with my back to the couch
Mug of tea cradled in my hands
Thinking: this is right,
This is me, again
