A birthday will be happening soon,
just one more day of my life, really.
(Is it useful as an indexing device,
like a minor holiday?)
Also on my calendar are check-ups
with all those doctors, preceded
by anxiety (about the sentence
they may impose).
I’m tired of all of this, my fear
as they open folders to read test results.
I suppose anxiety beats resignation.
(And fear of being parenthetical
to something else.)
I was shocked, at age 30,
the first time an editor printed
after my name: (1943 – ).