on the evening of my birth | poem

poetry

I return to the garden

where I first learnt to consider

stars born as bright and combative

as the other.

on a patch of dew grass

where my mother once taught me

how to walk

how to fall

like acorns from an oak tree

I would one day climb

once strong enough to run.

here I begin the counting

that has become night ritual

on the evening of my birth.

before I return inside

comes a tree climb

towards night stars.

each branch acts as a limb

the rough age of bark is a reminder

of simple wishes—

food and shelter

a place in the galaxy that feels

safe enough to raise young in nature.