At Last You’re Here
by Anna van Valkenburg
I’ll be at the Bird’s birthday.
At the table there will be bears,
horses, yellow bats.
I’ll put my hair in order, I’ll sit
up straight like hard rain, like anywhere
I’ve been. Come too
and spread yourselves
out like notes
across the junipers.
A thorn to hold down the evening —
I will grow into the ground.
Pull me out, make me visible,
Then erase me.
Then erase the bird.