I am forcing myself onto the spot,
A valiant attempt to warm up the day, which ought to be hot—
But it’s not. Fear not.
I bring you many orbs of light. They emit rainbow heat,
A healthy sort of radiation, if you can believe,
But only, and only at night.
And these orbs that I juggle freely, and with great care,
Come in many marvelous sizes, some simply quarter sized,
Others as portly as pears. But still, how they radiate!
As you may notice, they are not simply eggs,
Which hatch and give birth to blind miracles,
They are sweet hand grenades!
But what will come out of them? Fire,
Smoke, green waves of Desire?
Would the suspense be worth it,
To keep them in a nest, never to be open?
That would be foolish, they are chirping now.
I can hear them like the breath of the ocean.
I will let you in on the secret of the orbs,
Since now they are yours:
They each contain a Yes, or many,
Each ready to be hurled
Towards a different question,
Or tossed aside at anyone’s will.
I trust you will keep them still,
Until someday they are ready to be spun
Towards flowers, shy young men,
The rising May sun.
II
They are different, each Yes from the other.
As different as the love of each mother
Who go to great lengths to deliver
Girls and boys of gorgeous caliber.
And just there are twenty-six words reserved for snow,
It seems every day there is a Yes I didn’t know.
One entangled with delicate strings,
Another opened with sweeping, chrome wings,
And more and more and others, like so:
Wasn’t someone born eighteen years ago
Who you have become so glad to know?
Yes, but keep that on the down-low…
Will the Earth ever rest her weary head?
Is her hair cut short, her tears made out of molten lead?
Yes, and we will leave flowers in her stead.
Is the land golden and rich for all to see?
Is this honestly, truly, the land of opportunity?
Yes, I have seen it, and we are lucky.
Can dancers, actors, musicians ever truly unite?
Will they quit painting one color, and get it right?
Yes, but probably not tonight.
Will the sharp words of ignorance ever desist?
Are you trying to tell me that hell does not exist?
Yes, just believe me, and know this.
Would you be able to understand
If I reached out and touched the rivers of your hand?
Yes, since life has gotten quite bland.
Doesn’t everyone deserve a second and third chance?
Shouldn’t you always call your mother in advance?
Yes, but… no rhyme for dance?
Don’t you wish you could see the girl dance?
Would you be locked in a joyous, schoolgirl trance?
Yes, and how I too would prance!
Can you ever hear the music of the spheres
If one simply closes their eyes and disappears?
Yes, across the country! Out on the piers!
Will the willows ever once again become trees?
Will May ever melt the long winter freeze?
Yes, winter will be brought to its knees!
Has Spring come at last, like I knew it would,
Have the leaves whispered their love to the wood?
Yes, now if only we understood!
Can we ever be truly out on our own?
Do our colored memories keep us from being alone?
Yes, but to which, I haven’t known!
When rain sifts like pebbles through the lawn,
Could it be time to give in to the indulgent yawn?
Yes, sleep until all sleep is gone!
Will shaken love return its smooth course?
Can I ever ride a truly wild horse?
-.--. … (That’s Yes in Morse!)
Does lightning convalesce around one a.m?
And if it does, will it ever wander back again?
Yes, again and again!
Will you go to Finale with me?
Will you ignore the fact that I’m helplessly silly?
Yes, and look how silly are we!
Should teachers be given our praise?
And beyond praise, should artists be given a raise?
Yes, let’s leave sports fans in a daze!
Tell me, do you know the story of this word
That you write about, so giddy and absurd?
Yes! It is a story I’m sure you’ve never heard!
But first, I’ll make my point clear.
All of these Yes’ are in front of you here.
Keep them near, on your birthday,
And you’ll never stray
From being warm and boundless:
Today, Tomorrow, and Yesterday.
III.
The Gods of Yesiprocity all met on a stone,
Gathered close like brothers or sisters they had never met before,
To discuss the century’s great mysteries.
And though they argued and swayed like weeds in the sea,
There was one thing on which they all agreed.
“Today seems the day,” they sweat storms as they proclaimed:
“A baby born some years ago is born again today!
And so it would seem she’s now turned eighteen,
A flower, but oh how the hours pass by!
Have we no gift to lower on silk spindled from the sky?”
And they harbored the thought, and danced at the thought
Of the gift they would send to the world,
All in the name of one beautiful girl.
And that gift, as we know, was as simple as a word,
One worthy of decorating this flower-skinned girl.
So the word they did form out of cloud-like clay,
Using an elegant hammer of kindness,
Touched down to the earth on the morn of today:
The word that arrived was Yes.
IV.
No other word to imagine.
Nothing else comes to mind.
None of the cheap distractions
That otherwise take over in time.
The word is yours.
I am giving it to you,
Even if that leaves me with nothing
But a bucket full of paint, dark blue.
And because I trust you to be
Nothing short of incredible,
I know I have done something right.
Your life is yours.
Seed turns into bud, bud into leaf,
And with Yes comes believe, believe, believe.
Because I still care to dream.
And this summer, it’s nothing but ice cream.
The stars will be like pearls.
My Yes is yours.
Do with it as you please, birthday girl.
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