The prompt for this Wednesday is to write a poem about something that is Nothing Important

Saturday is your birthday. 

How could you think it would be important to me? 

It is certain to me that there is nothing important 

about my celebrations that make you 

notice insignificant numbers 

that rotate on your calendar. 

Days, months, years pass and the vacuum grows. 

Someday it will be a cave for me to fall into. 

Saturday is your birthday. 

I will go to sleep Friday with birthday cakes, 

old photos, labor pains and 

the scent of vernix filling my dreams. 

Saturday night I will sleep with a different type of ache. 

I never lost you because we don’t lose some things; 

they simply develop a distance and 

then we mourn in a visceral way. 

Living, parting and dying are on the same path 

and though it is certain to me that there is nothing important 

about your celebration that I would be a part of, 

I can keen if I want to. 

Saturday is your birthday. 

Thank you for reading........