Contributor Series 11: On Birthdays
On Her Birthday, That Threshold of First Roses
By KJ Hannah Greenberg

On her birthday, that threshold of first roses,
All ruby or magenta-shaded, scented
(Unlike blooms these forty years latter),
We got silly with charades, danced performances,
Made ingenious skits, bubbled forth festive singing.

Cakes, nowadays believed “old-fashioned,”
Then grew frosting flowers, turtles, goldfish,
While neighbors’ spangled little girls,
Their cares maybe more on jumping stones,
Than keeping party dresses clean, laughed.

Safta, too, often visited us those Junes,
Just as the days were long, nights cool, gardens special,
Crocheting Barbie skirts laced through with Carpathian 
Magic; each pulled loop extending equinox kisses,
Firefly enchantments, ice cream truck music.

Weeks before school let out, under pearly skies,
We rode bikes bedecked by streamers,
Played kickball, four square, freeze tag,
Whispered to our dear, collected friends,
Even stayed awake giggling at the stars.

KJ Hannah Greenberg’s most recent poem to appear here was Jukebox Jury (April 2012).