Poem 15: The Missing Day

The Missing Day

How curious must it be
that down the endless
reach of time
one is born on the 29th
of February.

What day in this year
will they call Mine?

Peeling the month off
the calendar reveals
My special day: on the 10th
of March, (dear me!)
I turn 40.

May I please lose my birthday, too?
Not for reasons of youth
nor of desire to reverse
the phenomenon of my being here.

Rather to spend the weekend
in peace, free of countdowns
and counting blessings,
meanwhile filling in the invisible
debit column.

Be rid of history's toy
shackles. How lovely
must it be to measure a life
no more.

—Razel Estrella