Welcome to July’s Poem of the Month!
This past weekend I had the chance to gather with friends and acquaintances who came from all around the country and the world to celebrate the 50th birthday of my dear friend Roy. Roy is, in his own right, an accomplished wine journalist and an acknowledged Port wine expert. He has shared with me his passion for wine in general and Port in particular, and graciously arranged a once-in-a-lifetime tasting this weekend with Port wines ranging back to 1815.
There is perhaps nothing greater than to gather around friends from far and wide to revel in the bonds of friendship. The joy is even greater when you are able to do so in the context of an event like a 50th birthday.
Ever the optimist, the month’s poem seemed especially appropriate for the occasion.
Warmest regards,
Stewart
Joyce Sutphen
(1949 – )
Crossroads
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
