She says she can't make it
for my birthday dinner,
I feel crushed,
as if I suddenly
learned
there is no such
thing as
Santa Claus or the tooth fairy,
or even the Easter
bunny,
my day passes like I knew it would
if my life had never
encountered her,
me, the tiny tot aching
at age seven for a bicycle I never got,
just some clothing for my birthday
I won't wear until
the fall,
we all living this
illusion
of what we want vs
what we get
, expecting something that can't be real
no matter how often
we click our heels
and wish for home,
she being the terrible twister
that shook my world
and deposited me in
the midst of munchkins,
dressing me up in
ruby slippers
for a stroll down a yellow brick road
to the even greater illusion of Oz
we still love
and we still click our heals
anyway.
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