09-04-89
2.times you've woken with a
start, only to realize what
day it is.
You'd rather have stayed
asleep.
4.
cards this year
but not one is from your grandmother
in Idaho.
Either she has forgotten you exist again,
[god knows she never liked you,
hopeless, pathetic middle-child
that you are,]
or she is dead.
you really musn't get your hopes up.
7.
tears. Only seven.
11.
people have forgotten to wish you a happy birthday.
Inside your head you forgive them
one by one--
It's not their fault you were born.
14.
hours pass.
you sit alone at the formica countertop
re-reading a birthday card
your mother gave you when you turned
seven.
"Happy birthday darling,
there is always someone out there
thinking about you."
Your mother lied about
Where babies come from,
the tooth fairy,
And her terminal illness. It's the only
Thing you really remember of her.
You throw the card away
and turn on the weather channel.
17.
candles flicker and
die.
Poetry by Inked.
Read 1738 times
Written on 2006-09-04 at 04:15
Tags Forgiveness  Sadness  Birthday 
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Richard |
Richard |
Christian Ward |
PoeticProcrastination |
MiVidaDeEpílogos. |
keith nunes |
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by Inked. Latest textsThe Tulips All Have Died.Exit 129. Tire Fragments. Here You Are. Here I Am. Here We Were. 09-04-89 My favoritesThe Beech TreeTo the wind |
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