Poetry 2025 Longlist, Sherene David

 Maria’s Happy Birthday

I smell coffee. Freshly brewed.

And the warm feel of the sun on my cheeks.

There’s a Post-it note with something scribbled on it.

It says:

It’s Maria’s birthday today.

I’ll call her first thing and give her all my love.

I’d rather be there with her.

Sunflowers—because she loves them—and strawberry cake.

When she was little, she’d tug at me until I took her out to the cake shop.

Now she’s all grown up. My little big girl.

I smell something. I know what it is.

But the words don’t come out as they used to.

The sun feels too bright today.

I need to get curtains. The blackout kind.

There’s a Post-it note with something scribbled on it.

I read it again and again:

It’s Maria’s birthday today.

Today? When is today?

Am I late in wishing her?

The days, the minutes, the seconds seem to blur away.

Should I call Maria? Maybe “today” means today.

And today is not done yet.

She loves that yellow sponge cartoon boy...

What was he called—SpongeBob?

I’ll buy her a SpongeBob bag. She’ll love that.

My little girl.

The clock strikes eight, so I know it’s morning.

The curtains shut me in. The outside stays outside.

There’s a note on my bedside table. The sticky kind.

I know what they’re called—I just can’t seem to recollect.

It’s Maria’s birthday today—that’s what it says.

Maria.

Is that somebody I know?