on my birthday

The record skips in the parlor
when the gurney wheels past.
Mother’s on her way to maternity.
On the 16th green Father’s putt misses its cup,
his Japanese caddy tuning the instrument
of his mind Buddha-fashion in the grass.
A cosmographer’s blue Pacific sea
illuminates the horizon.
West is faraway as sentimental honeymoon years
wavering in a crater of Nevada sunlight.
I am nowhere and everywhere.
A vague shape in a blue peignoir
(could it have been a kimono?)
holds me in its arms.