I was never one to dote on January,
not until that night.
Now I want every January to pile up
all over me, inside me.
Oh, right, how rude–I forgot to tell you
what happened:
Two people knocked on my door. One said,
“Come outside,” the other said, “You are
missing an icing sunset.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I slipped
out and joined them in the frosted twilight.
The sugar sky, the smooth bends of icing clouds,
I was in awe. I thanked the two people and
went back into my room, baked a cake,
ran back outside–but the sun had finished setting.
The icing clouds were gone. I was left with
a plain chocolate cake. The stars said, “Here,
we’ll help you,” and the Milky Way fell down as
a layer of powdered sugar and I said, “thank you,”
and my tongue said, “thank you,” and I went to bed
filled with stars.
bird-like banter 