As I turn 51 the coming weekend
I sit at my study, making a list of invitees for the grand soiree
That I throw for myself every passing year
No no, don’t feel sorry for me,
This is a choice I made many moons ago
You see my family is great at throwing formal dinners,
But the birth of a wildflower like me does not call for a seven-course meal
And my friends have a rather busy life to care for the colour of the table napkins
I prefer off-white, always
And my partner?
Well I never found someone befitting enough to call mine for the rest of eternity
So here I am, single at 50
Trying to decide who my plus one will be for my 51st
Wow 51, that’s a big one.
Everyone I have ever known should be there
Okay that would be a really long list
Everyone I have ever liked?
I like the lady who does my neighbour’s nails too
That is a lengthy list as well
Ahhh everyone I have ever loved
What a great excuse to have all my lovers, my past flames, my could-have-beens and my should-have-beens in the same room
All celebrating the birth of the woman who broke their heart or the woman whose heart they broke
Let me make a list
A list of all my loved and lost
A list of my lovers.
First, my absolute favourites- the Can I write about you(s)
Once every few decades,
You meet someone who thinks your feet are golden
And the air you breathe is heaven
They will write you sweet notes
And quote Rumi in bed
They will trace the scars on your inner thigh
And softly ask- “Can I write about you?”
These are the lovers that keep hurting years after moving on
But you smile every time you take their name
It is that bittersweet feeling of having tasted honey and
Then having to let go for the fear of diabetes
Lovers who saw you in your fullest potential.
Then come the Do you write about me(s)
Laying in bed
Caressing my bareback
Right after I mutter-
I love the slightly chipped tooth you never got fixed
They hit you with the- “do you write about me?”
Their eyes demanding an answer
Their mouth ready to utter it with me
Their grip on my back prompting me to say
“Yes”
As if there was no other possible answer
The curve of their smile was all there is to write about
Their beauty, my only muse
And their existence, the sole motivation of my poetry.
These are the lovers you manage to be friends with even after
For it was always friendship hidden beyond the shades of the lustful red
They are comfortable, your safe space, your equal
Lovers who saw you for who you really are.
And then there’s the Please don’t write about me(s)
The ones that still bring up more negative feelings than sweet nostalgia
Months after the dirty breakup
Weeks since you last texted each other “text me once you’re home”
Days after you have sent all their sweatshirts back
As you sit and think of all the red flags you missed
You get an email- “please don’t write about me”
And you smile thinking
They have no idea how badly the toxicity, the drama and the grief
Will be milked to get content that sells for years to come
They are going to pay for the new laptop and the MK bag
These are the lovers you don’t wish to run into on a random day
The thought of what used to be infuriates you
And in case you have moved on, it makes you cringe
Lovers who made you see the worst in you.
Anyways, imagine them all in one room,
Some hating the very day I was born,
Some reminiscing the days we spent arms-in-arms
And some celebrating as if nothing ever happened

All these lovers with nothing but me in common
Oh and all the poems I wrote in their name

But none close to the one I am working on currently
I call it- An evening soiree and a list of lover

Happy fifty-first, my love.