pony party

Today is my birthday. You know, after all of these years, I still think that a pony birthday party is the best. I wish you could join me. We could have cake and champagne and ride the little guys around the stable. As we rode, we could talk about birthdays and how interesting it is to grow older. As someone who never expected to age past twenty-three, there is something quite magical about it all.

In the spirit of celebrating our mortality and relationships with beasts, here is a poem by Jack Gilbert, from The Great Fires.

I never thought Michiko would come back
after she died. But if she did, I knew
it would be as a lady in a long white dress.
It is strange that she has returned
as somebody's dalmatian. I meet
the man walking her on a leash
almost every week. He says good morning
and I stoop down to calm her. He said
once she was never like that with
other people. Sometimes she is tethered
on their lawn when I go by. If nobody
is around, I sit on the grass. When she
finally quiets, she puts her head in my lap
and we watch each other's eyes as I whisper
in her soft ears. She cares nothing about
the mystery. She likes it best when
I touch her head and tell her small
things about my days and our friends.
That makes her happy the way it always did.


Images by Lo Bjurulf