Little Births

Poco Cumpleanos

mostly dying, but sometimes

finding myself suddenly born again

a cameo of myself in my movie I recognize

like a movie star, which I was 

in my own movie in memories of great scenes,

like when my mother overturned the Xmas dinner 

table, completely set, in a fit of rage when her brother,

my uncle, showed up unexpectedly. 

That took three lines of memory from my mind. 

It was as if happened yesterday.

But that’s not what this poem is about.

I’d better start again, 

or is that another birth?

That’s what keeps happening, 

even as I age: always finding myself

again, back at square one.

Reason enough to keep living.

***************

Afterbirth

Yeah, like, when you’re born?

And everything that comes after

that is afterbirth, until death, and

it’s as messy as it sounds.