by Mariah Sells
Twenty years ago I considered this day.
I dreamt of death.I dreamt of their conceptual Heaven and me,
me spinning in
circular patterns and holding your hand and
uplike smiles in the rain,
a naive and receptive child in a church pew.But you’re not smiling
timebecause after you conceived me,
the sadness of this world—
you assessed the sadness and the world failed
your standards, so
it at age twenty-sixlike frowns under the rain of your own sadness,
a pretentious and agnostic teenager in a church pew.
And until now, I’ve never cared for my birthday.
Even words can’t feasibly describe my thoughts
when personal pain caused life to abandon you,
Copyright © 2012 by Mariah Sells