Now

Odd practice, remember birthdays never to be celebrated.
For my Grandma Toth's birthday, it would've been 85 this year.


Now

Now
she's gone--
sickened body burnt into dust
and blown into the winds...
a fine powder, that's all that's left of her
once loving
living
breathing body.
Her dust finds its way into the wrinkles
and deep creases of his hands
as he spreads her on the air.
He brushes her off...

And we plod on.
We smile and don't feel guilt.
But birthdays will never properly exist again.
There will be no card with her
spiky black letters on it,
and it will be as though the entire
Earth
had not made it around the
Sun
once more.
Years
will never pass in succession again, because
my
Grandma has died.