Written by: Irene Hammer-McLaughlin

I celebrated the 
day you were born
by wrapping a 
present of chopsticks
I had purchased but
would never give you.

I wrapped the box
as though I might --
with colorful tissue and
a silver ribbon
that catches the light
in a similar manner as
do your eyes.

But realized that were
I to offer them up
you might ram one through
my heart
without even meaning to.

You would say thank you
and be gracious
but would not hold me
citing a thousand reasons why
you shouldn't.

And you would be right.
For we would hurt all over.

So instead I write this for you,
hoping you will visit
but knowing you won't.

So I forget your birthday --
though I don't.