A friend of mine made out with Christmas,
but I boned Samhain. It was like falling into a plane
at 7000 miles per year. So much better than kissing
a manger or worse. I don’t know. Someone married
the Fourth of July. It ended in alcoholism.
No one is born on birthdays anymore. It seems
like it’s nothing but drunkenness. I got St. Patrick’s Day
pregnant. They gave me props for that. They gave me
a ladder and a camera, told me to punch Boxing Day
in the face, flatten its archaic nose. My mom told me
that to accomplish your dreams, you need to fall asleep.
She says that you can become anything you want
as long as you want the thing you’re going to end up becoming.
My mother turns into Easter. She is Chinese. I love her
ability to cry at weddings and funerals and in study hall.
I don’t tell her about Halloween. She’d worry about herpes.
But truth is, it gave me scarecrows. There is no cure.