For G, on his 11th birthday
my child of extremes,
the volume of your spirit
has never been set to “soft”
born of music, dance and song
you carry these in your bones
as they carry you
you feel things deeply,
the high notes reverberating
against the lows
until there is almost
no difference
in your bodily experience
bigger, better, brighter, newer
hold court with
tiny, cute, tender, precious
you sneak silently
and cause a deafening din
in equal measure
let no one ever (even me)
adjust your dials without consent
never let them turn you down
my wish for you:
be exactly who you are,
always
but watch out world –
the volume is up
and this one goes to eleven
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