On my 50th birthday

The time has come to celebrate a new season
the ghosts are gone and the thorn of rain
clutches the flame of life in the cold air.

I am not who I wanted to be. The future
is waiting for me at Yellow Knife to possess
what I never got under the tangled sheets.

My backache at dawn will disappear but there
is no snow to quench my thirst and the past,
like a film to edit, comes to comfort me.

I am not the wife I wanted to be. The ring,
the necklace and the roses fix what happened
through the wall as I must conceal the rest.