September 1, 2001 02:20 PM

It is day one of the month I consider mine. Despite being named for a month (not September), this is mine. These are my star sapphires and my morning glories and my blue glass months shot through with yellow lights.

and the days grow short
when you reach september

September culminates in my birthday. In my corner of things, it's a month of rain. Serious, hurricane-type rain for a serious, hurricane-type land. I lived a childhood on a finger of sand created by those rains. One childhood birthday was spent feeding fast food chicken to disagreeable cats smuggled into a hotel room in carry-on bags. We had, you see, been evacuated.

and the autumn weather
turns the leaves to grey

It's September and I'm becoming a Barbara Kingsolver fan. I read her books when we visit the boy's family. I read the books set in Arizona, not Kentucky. But I've never been either place.

She makes me think of family and belonging to a place. Of the way memories are tied to locations. And my family who refuse belonging to a geography. Transplanted midwesterners living on sandfingers. But I know. There is something (physical) that unites their land of lakes and that land of salt. Insects. Fireflies, dragonflies, mosquitos. Flying swamp bugs.

and i haven't got time
to play a waiting game

It's September and I'm not as excited as usual. I've been snuck up upon. Everyone's birthday is coming and I'm not quite ready for the party. I can't (won't) fight the optimism that September brings, but I'm still surprised. And a little frozen. I mean. Everything will likely be different [better] when this month ends.

And as much as I waited for this. I feel surprised and unready.

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