Happy Birthday Uncle Walt

A couple of years ago
I remember thinking how dead
you'd be right now

I picked out the day:
partly cloudy, 73°
and the leaves all painted
to fall around our tears
as we cried for you.

For a moment
in October, I was sure
when you gagged up
a tube and cried
because there was nothing left
to do, half-naked in a blue
and white johnny

I cried too, walking out into the sun
thinking you might never do this again.

I was wrong
about miracles
my heart beats
and I should have known.
God, I should have known.

When they sliced your chest open
and cracked the shell of your sternum
with a power saw

I was home, waiting for phonecalls
and praying that love would be enough
you might eat another meal with me
laugh at old stories about our lost loves
hold me, and remind me where I come from

"Love is not enough," you told me
a week later -- your new heart pounding
like a new tune on well polished marimbas
-- "It also takes and a good surgeon."

Then you laughed.
Then you laughed again the next day.
and again and again
every time I saw you.

Each day -- a gift
Each kiss.
Each touch.
Each breath.