while cutting me a piece
of daddy’s death cake
& breaking promises
I once believed in,
I can hear him telling me

indulgence is a sin

my mistake,
someone’s ashed
their cigarette
onto the frosting
so I select that slice
because I know
grief isn’t supposed
to taste nice

give me a break,
everyone is pretending
& daring to compliment
the ceremony,
like a marriage
between the living
& the ground

I choke without
making a sound
because each bite
is a dry bone
& I’m so alone
in my bitterness
& my vendetta
against smiling

they think I’m crying,
but I’m giggling
at my father’s ghost
floating above
the doorpost
mimicking
my finicking aunt
& urging me to
live, live, live
cuz we’re all dying, really

this is the kind of wisdom
he was known for,
too late, from the beyond,
in absentia & obscure