for your 24th birthday
i was going to bake you a cake.
not pink whipped icing
on wimpy, fluffy chiffon,
majestic peaks of white frosting
burying dark dense fudgy devil's food.
a cake that sinks to the pit of your stomach
-like a disconsolate reality that sits there
-like the news of your early departure,
& the fact that i can never bake you a cake,
because you'll never have your 24th birthday.
chelle santos's Other Poems
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