All
my life
I have celebrated
July,
my birth month.
Now,
I realize,
I
should have reveled
In
October with its potbellied
Pumpkins
and chilly nights.
I
imagine one evening,
My
mother climbed the stairs
To
her bedroom,
Shed
her day clothes,
Donned
a soft blue nightgown
Studied
her face in the mirror, sighed
Over
new lines above her brow
And
slid into her side of the bed
She
shared with my father.
He
was not asleep
Although
probably tired
From
working late at the store.
Maybe
simply to subdue
The
feel of autumn in the air,
They
came together
And
were warm in each other's arms.
Something
spectacular happened
That,
months later, they would try to recall
What
night this was.
That
was my night.
I
can’t conceive
A
more important time,
Greater
even than my birthday,
That
October night
And
those magnificent moments
Of
parental embrace.
Fireworks
and canon volley,
Tell
the world.