originally published in the Summer 2018 issue of Crow Literary Review

I say I don’t like being alive and

She says, you’re making

God mad

She’s a little stupid, this girl

Adopted by old parents

With a boring pleasant house

Whose dusty sun porch

Looks benignly on the snowbound lawn

I say, what if everything you dream was

Dreamed before by someone who died long ago?

And your sleeping brain is like a magnet

Drawing down all that sticky blue-green hunger?

She has no idea what I mean, so

We play with tiny pink tea cups,

Make the sound of liquid being poured

And might become good friends

If only she knew cold hearts the way I do

Or the slap of hands

Or fear

But she doesn’t

I ask, so how does God pay us back?

And she says, for what?

I think hard, then say,

For never wanting to be born

Writer & Poet. Find me at anneleighparrish.com

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