What I’d give my wife for her 59th birthday

Ideally, I’d give you a kitten of your own,
but before that, a magical pill to kill your allergy.

I’d give you the shell of a pine shed, with loft and veranda,
all the latest tools, in a setting (no doubt with a creek)
of your choosing.

I’d fly in all our kids and their partners, the entire
global-blended-brood of them, to toast the arch
of your open-ended evolution, your mentorship,
especially salute your motherhood.

I’d bake you fresh bread, churn butter for you,
add a touch of garlic. (Not to worry, I found the perfect
naturopath to give you tolerance for gluten and allicin.)

I would interview a dozen gardeners and select one
that would never forget to tend all those seedlings
you start each year, with such care.

I’d arrange the best hike — perfect weather for your hands and feet,
handsome guides that played the flute like Moe Koffman, and
carried the stemware, red wine and a plate of brownies.
(I should have told you: I gave you a taste and the capacity for wine.)

For excitement, yet comfort, for our tired and fragile bones,
I’d rent an inflatable castle, we’d bounce-dance
from twilight to midnight.

I’d throw you a weekend conference.
It’d be exhausting, too many sevens, but it’s your party.
(Naturally, before that, I’d have wiped out Covid.)
George Gurdjieff would be Friday’s speaker,
breakout sessions with Agatha Christi and Margaret Wheatley,
for variety, Stan and Jan Berenstain.
You’ll be relieved — no poets.

Of course there’d be a display in the foyer
full of accolades from kids you’ve taught
in your own Learning Out Of Curiosity school,
mom’s you’ve cared for, (lived with us)
colleagues you’ve worked with and Enneagram alumni.

However, I’d reserve the right to be your keynote,
say things like:

Remember when we wished each other, other than we were?
tried to live our neighbour’s measures,
our religion’s gendered standards?
We were green,
by luck and work, we grew out of that foolosophy.

We’ve had hellish days, like everyone,
but far more were days when everything was in blossom!

We’ve gotten good at taking turns
keeping each other together.
(Thank you, that was your lead.)

Funny, we’ve been given this dust for a short while,
but it’s made possible,
this load of love.

Then I’d end by saying, simply, I like
how I’m known, these days, not by name,
but as Deb’s husband.                         (Happy Birthday Deb!)