Twelve Months Later

 
I baked a cake today,
decorated with sprinkles and sparkles.
I stuck one candle on it
and sang with everyone else.

Your smile is four-teeth sweetness.
I look at you,
and my stomach fills with liquid lead.
What I wouldn't give to be wrong,
clutching my dirge of dread.

You had another episode yesterday,
staring off into nothing.
Your tiny left fist is curled up tight,
tight,
tighter than the knots
in my gut.

I hear grim chariot wheels
grinding bright years into dust.

What I wouldn't give,
to go in your stead.