The party- a poem

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The Party

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Laughter filled the room;

Streamers decorated the ceiling-

My fourth birthday,

I knew I was beautiful in

My favorite party dress-

Lights dimmed as

I blew out the candles

On my cake-

Cherry frosting upon

Angel food,

My very favorite-

Inside I was

Echoing my mother’s smile-

I was a different star,

Though bright and

Beaming with happiness –

I loved myself-

A different star,

Though too young to fathom

Life’s meaning,

Too naïve to

Read the pain behind my mother’s smile-

Trees would shed illumination upon

My inner space,

Surrounding our New England mansion and

Their branches tossed about in the

Late January wind-

One day that star’s light would burn out,

That I could not then foresee-

Lying on a hard blue mattress in a seclusion room,

Only ten years later,

My life would transform to

The land of the dead-

Rain would inundate my inner space,

As my mother would lie motionless in her bed,

Covers rumpled and nobody cared-

Nobody cared that I was screaming inside, and

Cut off from reality-

Streamers adorned the ceiling in a different place-

My 15^th birthday spent listening to records

On a scratched phonograph in a hospital solarium,

The foul stench of urine permeating the room as

I, lost in another time and space,

Blew out the candle on the stale Hostess cupcake as

Other patients sang “Happy birthday”

Each in their own key-

I hardly remembered

My favorite party dress, or the cherry frosting because

The anger and pain I felt

Were just to overpowering-

The late January wind

Rattled the cracked window in the seclusion room-

“Happy birthday” became the saddest song-

I was hardly beautiful in

That seersucker hospital gown,

The hatred I felt towards myself

Was becoming as overwhelming as

The rage I felt towards my mother-

For giving birth to me-

This institution was a far cry from

That New England mansion and

I was weeping inside bitter tears of despair-

The lights were dimming, and I didn’t care-

Because my world had become so dark already that

I could not distinguish reality from unreality, and

My mother’s smile was

None but a shadow, which has

Vanished in the cruel late January wind…

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Claudia Krizay

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