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.
Beautiful!