This being my birthday, I shall be a little self-indulgent and choose a birthday poem for this post, albeit one that is more reflective, less celebratory. Linda Paston, who passed away a year ago, is an American poet, whom I not heard of before. But she can write, so I look forward to reading many more.

Counting Backwards

How did I get so old,

I wonder,

contemplating

my 67th birthday.

Dyslexia smiles:

I’m 76 in fact.

 

There are places

where at 60 they start

counting backwards;

in Japan

they start again

from one.

 

But the numbers

hardly matter.

It’s the physics

of acceleration I mind,

the way time speeds up

as if it hasn’t guessed

 

the destination—

where look!

I see my mother

and father bearing a cake,

waiting for me

at the starting line.