She hated that day
With embittered rage
And painful envy

She recalled her childhood
And it was not saccharine
She envied her peers

Because, certainly,
She had nothing like they did
No, she didn't

She would not celebrate
No presents or plans
This day was only

May 9th
And nothing more

Why should she celebrate
This harpy?

There was nothing
About this woman to celebrate
Considering all of her poor choices

She's made

No, this day, would be like
June 20th , a day which is just a date
Wherein, she won't speak to either of them

For the duration of the day

No, she'd make herself busy
Tossing herself into something
That needed doing

If that harpy wanted celebrations
Then that harpy could get them
From her other six children

Not this one
No, it would just be
Turpentine to the wounds

Inflicted by wine red talons

She hated that day
With embittered rage
And painful envy

For the wounds she had
And what she didn't have.