January’s child is born into
Ordinary Time.
And celebrates among half-empty
Christmas clearance racks.
She is gifted with get-in-shape
And get-organized
And take-control-of-your-life ads,
Wrapped up tight in resolutions.
There are no angels to herald her birth
Or royal gift-bearers,
Just a post-Christmas budget crunch
And post-holiday belly bloat.
She is a child of the cleaning up
And the putting away
And the clearing out
And tax time.
She shivers each year to a start
Under January skies
While the twinkling lights
Of December
Fade to dullness in her eyes.
Ordinary Time.
And celebrates among half-empty
Christmas clearance racks.
She is gifted with get-in-shape
And get-organized
And take-control-of-your-life ads,
Wrapped up tight in resolutions.
There are no angels to herald her birth
Or royal gift-bearers,
Just a post-Christmas budget crunch
And post-holiday belly bloat.
She is a child of the cleaning up
And the putting away
And the clearing out
And tax time.
She shivers each year to a start
Under January skies
While the twinkling lights
Of December
Fade to dullness in her eyes.
It is fun. Also poignant. Thanks for letting your January child out to play.
ReplyDeleteHappy Birthday to my January child, who lights up my life every month of the year!
ReplyDeleteNot maudlin at all! In fact, I am inspired by it to try my hand at my own birthday poem.
ReplyDeleteI love it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, "Anonymous." Now, if I could just figure out who you are...
ReplyDeleteds-No problem. My January child does not have a curfew.
Tina--I want to see your birthday poem.
Anne--Thanks!
Happy Birthday Erin! Great poem. xoxo
ReplyDelete