poems by Amelia Anthony
On my birthday
On my birthday I am a monday. I am
a bird in a family of birds. I am
not really a girl anymore.
I live in a house on a street.
On your birthday I am eager.
We have not met in a while.
I am a half-full mug of
jasmine tea. I am a framed painting
lacking a frame.
On my birthday last year
I am happier than this year except
this feeling does not last.
This year it does. I am a 7/10.
also on my birthday but i just wrote it then
squares black and white and the corner
is blue and i have only been here once
wearing the wrong type of shoes
someone has glued a newspaper to
the lining of my skull. a decoration
and a task both at once
eyes closed poem em dash
congestion doesn’t smell like anyone
I am okay with no one. I am okay
to spill quietly a few times a month.
Overflow in the bathroom sink, the
red dripping off my hands
I didn’t wash. No one notices.
I am good at responding to people
pseudo-caring about me.
I tell them I am actually fine.
They are content with this change.
They can sleep on an “actually fine.”
In this poem I will tell you I am actually fine
except I need you to believe it.
I make money and I sleep. In the morning
I will forget about these thoughts.
These all read like breakup poems.
I have not had time to mourn. I have not
given any thought to the type of casket I want I thought I wanted cremation.
At least my friends say they are okay
I want them to be that way when I start to
talk to no one but myself.
Amelia Anthony is the current editor of Tunnel Magazine.
Featured Image: Little Girl in a Blue Armchair by Mary Cassatt