I won't be home for supper

Because today it's my birthday

and I'm headed straight through these

newly unlocked gates

speeding past my house

in a blue Dodge Neon with

a group of girls who wear

curve contouring clothes

and smoke Marlboro Lights.

The speakers pulse and the bass

shakes up our insides

while all the windows roll down

letting our vulnerability unleash into

the spring air.

It's only morning

but I'm dressed for night

in white rayon belted pants and

a taut halter top

showcasing newfound parts of myself

that I've recently learned draw in

sideward glances

that encourage my hips to sway just a bit more

when I walk.

We're en route to Riccardi's

where my friends force the waiter to sing

and my hair gets caught in the candle flame.

Mouths are alive with teeth and tongue

the flicker of disposable cameras capturing

moments dripping with this candy sweet smell

 

But wait, I've missed a part

rewind to

when we're just about to pass the house.

We're about to pass it as if I do not live there

it is just a house in the long succession of houses.

Slowing my minds' reel

as we approach the blue tri-level home...

There you are

unsuspecting

in the front yard with the lawn mower not yet turned on

the house is empty inside.

With my mind's eye

I abandon the car interior

shift my position to the tree enclosed U-shaped driveway

where I know every break in the tar, every pine tree

I walk to you with steady knees and an

ache that has curled itself neatly in my throat...