It is her day today
but then again
it always is –
mine never.
It is her day
her night,
her memory
alive.
Some 30 years
has passed
her over
now.
And once again
I celebrate
quietly
in vain.
Does she
feel old enough
to hide
her age?
Will I ever
get old enough
to not
hide all?
It is her day
today –
and every day
for me.
One extra year
she’s been
in this world
now.
I celebrate
that fact
in deepest
silence.
I’d gladly make
her extra days
and years
if possible.
But today
is her day
and hers alone
forever.