Happy Birthday to the Dread Patty Templeton

There is No Lovely End, Only Lovely Here

For Patty Templeton
by C. S. E. Cooney
On the occasion of her November 5th 2025 birthday, however the hell years old/young we are

they will say of us, maybe nothing
we’ll be tree fodder, or thrift store jewelry by then
all our book collections gone to the dump
it’s possible the future holds no lasting legacy, no literacy
no cavorting like ghouls in the graveyard, no naughty pearls
no goblin concerts or burlesque, or maybe
it does, but we’ll never know it, because always
for such as us, the end means the end

but here and now, I say of us
we are a surpassing loveliness, a goofiness
a joie de vivre with a side of deviltry
you, particularly, are sharp-honed as carved bones
bare as the skelly onesies you wear
you grin like a jack o’ lantern, you write like wildfire
and you dance like giants stomping the world’s largest rain puddles

if you are sometimes bitter, you are also loyal
when you know you’ve failed, you apologize
as you live, you strive, and as you strive
you carve a space for yourself where you can also thrive
double-fisting your knives, guarding your edge jealously

and you send good goddamn gift boxes in the mail

we are none of us perfect, but our friendship is perfect
your hospitality like a hearth in my ribcage, however far away
were I a holy aspergillum, I’d shower you in blessing spunk all day
funky with radiance, in clunky black boots and torn fishnets,
you’d walk to some southwestern cafe, where you’d tip the barista
like a former barista, and order something warm as autumn leaves
and you’d think of me.