Daughter

My bagged up body lies below your glare,
Just beneath the chin.
Each pile of dirt placed on me, 
Acts as the wall you put up between us.
I stick a straw through the black trash bag—
To sip up the tears you failed to show me—
When I said “I love you” for the last time, alive.
Your hate, I pray dissipates into the void.
I cursed you alive, and protect you as the dead.
You wanted a mother but I treated you as a friend.
I hope the anger I showered you with,
Does not translate into your worth.
I no longer want to hurt you.
 

MariaStella Cubias is a writer from San Diego.

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