Ida

Eighth

Dear Elena,
Today is my birthday. I don't know if you remember that.
There is no party
Like there was when I was younger
With party favors and friends
That would rather choke than call me now.
I drink too much instead
And disguise myself as the exact opposite of my mother;
A drunk with a purpose.
I wonder, did you get me something for my birthday?
Something?
Anything?
Nothing?
Love?
A kiss?
A memory?
Of course you didn't.
You've given me enough.
I got you flowers
And spray painted them gold
Because you always wanted a twenty four carot ring.
I'd die for a single rose-
And I hate roses.
Love, Ida