Quincenera

Her Washinton Monument spine refused

to bend as her face slowly slid downwards

against the Kool-Aid blue sky. She sank onto

the perfect green spearmint grass, her dress a

bright yellow pool of cloth and plastic jewels.

Her marshmallow-white smile was like a

sticker left out in the sun too long,

permanently stuck to

her oily-earth skin. Her beloved

family swarmed around her like elegantly

dressed flies, peeling their smiles off of a sheet.

Pasting it on their faces. Then swallowing the smile

without a glance at her. Her first breath was drawn out of

the genetic lottery fifteen years ago. Eleven hours ago. Two-

point-six minutes ago. Flashing lights stick to the inside of her eyes

like ghost nightmares, threatening to haunt her even in the presence of

the sun. Weeks later she begs the memory to disappear like a witness

in the program. The only reminder is the bright yellow pool she threw into

her crowded closet, buried underneath an old spearmint green bag.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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