Was I Ever 23?

If he knocked
on the door would I
need to smile,
give him a hug and
invite him in?

Should I
feel close to him
just because we share
the same birthday?

What else do we have
in common?
Maybe our bones,
but his are wrapped
in smooth skin,
and look at all that hair
on his head.

Family and friends
still connect us, it’s true,
but in his world
most of them are alive.

I see he’s shocked
by my wrinkled face.
Should I tell him
now is the time
to start learning
to embrace his fate?

As we talk,
it becomes clear he knows
little about the world,
but, unlike me, what he knows,
he knows for sure.

We’re completely different;
he’s vaguely aware
he won’t live forever,
but he doesn’t
really believe it.

When he shows me
some poems he’s written,
I try to smile and be
polite about them
until I come to the one
about how he fears
a mysterious flaw in himself
will destroy any hope
he has of happiness.

As he’s leaving, he asks
if I’d like a copy
of that poem. I tell him
I know it by heart.