In Memory of My 7th Birthday

On my 7th Birthday I was slapped

in the face three times.

Piñata: Purple and pink— my little pony themed.

All the kids lining up and lining up,

loud cheering waiting to pull this

hanging thing apart like they hadn’t eaten

a sugary sweet taffy in decades.

As I reached my turn at the front of the line,

a demon meets my eyes—

her smirk and laugh after the swing, the swing

that lashed out onto my fresh 7 year old face.

My aunt took me to the kitchen

for an ice cold bag of peas.

Gifts: When we opened gifts— I think

what can get better than this:

Two decorative K’s with glitter. Two?

It was not until later I learned that my family

grew old and is now breaking apart into two.

Now: My eyes burning with red from the spring falling

and falling as that is what naturally came.

Now I sit here pretty with water building in my eyes

and a sore face eating my cake.

Once birthdays were full of different

shades of pinks, and the blowing of candles, is

just another year in a world that turns

more grey by the day.