to each other like bird-flocks, we begin
the new year, as always, with the end
of your birthday, & after the glow of celebration
has passed, we’re separated once again
by some airport barrier. You are always crying
when this happens, unfolding like the magnolias
back in Seoul that would grow out
of their fuzzed shells for spring, & I am always looking
back as if to say, I am so sorry for your loss.
So this year, I bought you a cake with money
I made myself, & this year, we didn’t drink
to count down, & on the drive to LAX
when I ask you not to cry this time, you look
at me with reverence as if to say, what came from me
is so much more than I am, & you truly believe
that you’ve been changed by me
despite how I still open wide like a tiny bird
when you feed me honey for my sore throat,
because even now I want to feel helpless & adored
the way you did when you were born on the last day,
thrust into the new year unprepared.