Ezra Solway<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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They plop a birthday hat on my head,
\nString coiled firmly around my larynx,
\nSo the blood flushes,
\nIn my eyes, they search,
\nThey demand happiness, my parents.
\nIt is only natural, they say.<\/p>\n
The rest of class is busy bowling,
\nGliding balls down the creamy brown lane,
\nScooping neon frosting,
\nSeizing the gifts I spurn,
\nBlow it out! Blow it out! They shout.
\nAnd I watch as the wax drips & puddles.<\/p>\n
They act like a rafter of baby turkeys \u2013 all of them,
\nDetermined to fly, yet barely leaving the floor.
\nThis is the melody the world insists I gobble,
\nBut I refuse to harmonize or chew,
\nFor at this moment all I can think about
\nAs I\u2019m glued to these itchy shoes,
\nIs how I\u2019ve aged to double digits.<\/p>\n
From across the alley, I see my parents
\nRaise the last slice of cake.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
EZRA SOLWAY <\/strong>writes in Philadelphia where he is currently an MFA candidate at Temple University in fiction. His work has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine<\/em> and is forthcoming in Jewish Fiction.net. He enjoys playing tennis, cooking, and practicing transcendental meditation.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ezra Solway They plop a birthday hat on my head, String coiled firmly around my larynx, So the blood flushes, In my eyes, they search, They demand happiness, my parents. It is only natural, they say. The rest … Continue reading