16 today

You should have been 16 today. You should have been.

I would, or I should, have given you a present today, for your 16^th birthday. A very special one. Already a young woman, or very close to being one. My little one, mi babita.

But I cannot give you your present, because you are not here.

Yet here is your present, one you would have liked to see, without any doubt. A present we can share with whoever chooses to have a look here.

A few starfish. Like the one you and I found on the southern shores of Upolu barely 48 hours before the ocean rushed in and drowned you.

That starfish was dead. These were alive and happily greeted us from the shores of a beautiful lagoon in Vanuatu. I gathered them and put them all together – like a team! So I could take the picture for you, for your birthday. Can you see them, Clea? Can you see your birthday present? Aren’t they beautiful? Beautiful, like you were, like you would have been today. 

Loveya, babita. Always.

Your Birthday Present: A sonnet

What present would I have got you today?

A new bicycle? A gadget? How cool…

Something I’m certain you’d have loved to play

with? Perhaps something to show off at school?

We would have got you a chocolate cake,

or would have gone out to dinner – Thai, Chinese…

or a very special dish Mum could make.

You were not too tough a diner to please.

Would have loved the mangoes so juicy and ripe,

Or a cooling mid-afternoon iceblock:

raspberry, orange, or lemon and lime.

Another birthday, one more year to clock.

Yet all I can give you today: my tears.

This grief beyond words, not having you here.