Extra Large 200th Birthday
A poem by Joe Cottonwood

Extra Large 200th Birthday

Let’s gather my children,
their partners, their offspring—
shades of hair, skin, eyes, a palette of DNA
mixing cultures and continents.

Let’s celebrate first by repairing the deck,
a carpenter’s holiday
prying, cutting, screwing until suddenly
I trip on the crowbar and
I’m falling in front of everybody
fortunately sideways onto soft grass.
Thunk.
I’m fine, slightly bruised,
dug a divot in the lawn and
everyone now reminded that 70 is old age,
judgement possibly addled.
They say I took fetal position on the way down,
good instinct, a carpenter’s regression.

Family tradition: a pie not a cake.
Gift of a sweater vest, size Extra Large.
I’m a man of medium build, but always
in their eyes Extra Large.

One candle, only one
because 70 would melt the pie
and counting physical body years
misses the point. We are spirit
expanding as ripples in a pond
beyond the flesh. Add up our ages.
My years plus children plus grandchildren
total exactly 200 years old this day.
I’m spreading, not dying.
Happy birthday to us.

About the Author:

Joe Cottonwood has repaired hundreds of houses to support his writing habit in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California. His latest books of poetry are Foggy Dog and Random Saints. He can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/JoeCottonwood. His website is http://joecottonwood.com

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