Back Porch, Bundt Cake

And one day,

you’re 24,

listening to the charm of chirping birds on your back balcony.

You’re at peace,

coloring like you did as a child,

within the lines, lost in time.

One day,

you’re giggling

as you approach the front door of your Idaho apartment,

an arm full of birthday gifts,

a half-eaten Bundt cake tipping sideways.

You feel seen.

You feel loved.

Because just hours before,

a poem was read to you,

written for you,

by a girl that feels like the subtle glow of honey.

At a surprise birthday party

the poet becomes a poem.

And in this poem,

she mentions how you drink coffee brewed in a Moka pot.

What a simple but identifying moment to highlight poetically.

To be seen really must be to be loved.

One day,

you’re on your back porch

listening to the sound of Saturn by Sleeping at Last,

the lyrics reminding you that the universe was made to be seen by your eyes,

reminding you how rare and beautiful it truly is that you exist.

One day,

you are not at war with existence,

and it feels right.

You've been touched by the gentle glow of honey.