On the Eve of 41

I wrote this the night before my birthday, and oddly enough the night before UCLA called with news  new kidney.

 

On the Eve of 41

 

1.

 

It’s not the new 21

Or even 31

It is the back of my hand

Tired, mocking me with intensified hand cream

Anti-wrinkle serum

A sign perched next to the roadway exit

That I refuse to take

A reminder that time has not

Pulled over to the shoulder

And allowed me to march by

Unscathed

 

2.

 

I tell myself this year is no different than 31

I am just as solitary

Lost in the comfort of pen and paper

Year after year, both my only real companions

Tucking me into sheets of rehashed love affairs

That were and weren’t

Of self destruction beneath the thighs

Of faceless men that always end here

Where counting an inferno of candles

Is less damaging than counting

Natural disasters of lovers’ exits

 

3.

 

40, 41-no matter-I am still dieing

The average life span of a dialysis patient: 5 years

I’ve wasted 4.

But I am young, can beat the odds, I’m told.

Some great reward

After my blood has been filtered for the third time this week

After I faint in my living room

Through tremors and convulsing

A seizure I welcome for it’s proof of life

Yet I cannot help but wish there was dialysis

For my broken down heart

4.

 

Saying goodbye to 40

Isn’t so difficult

Not like counting the threads in my pillow case

I’m resigned to the shifting of time

The movement of the clock that I can’t control

I accept

The tears I would have cried

Dancing in the hollow of my liver

Fermenting with vodka

And yesterday

Searching for tomorrow

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