Thirty-Four

I turn 34 today, and for the first time I am older than you. I miss you, Gina.

You always broke the ice of age for me,
stepping eight months prior
toward our next-higher number, until your
halted axe-stroke melted mid-year into thirty-three:

you became the ice
and I, the broken.

For the first time,
I own a number not only before you
but without you… instead of you… in spite of you…

my self outliving both Christ and companion.