On my birthday I went and sat on a rock In the White Man’s cemetery.

I watched over my father’ grave for one hour. 

Like the Thinker, I sat

With my fist underneath my chin

And pondered life.

I was 21 years old.

Then I rose,

And, like a teenage boy, I ran,

As hard as I could toward the boundary of the graveyard,

And as I approached the fence,

I jumped.

I bounded over the chain link and the top pole,

And I landed on my feet on the other side. 

And suddenly I knew,

My father had done the very same thing,

And he was somewhere 

On his feet

On some great unknown other side.

And today,

Again,

It is my birthday.

And today, again, I will remember these things,

And hold them in my heart still healing.

But today,

I will find something else to do for my birthday.

-jenn