Blowing Out the Candles

 

One more year and I am still waiting;

 

checking the mailbox for a card

(even though I know you don’t have my address,)

and the phone for missed calls,

 

hoping for some storybook reunion.

 

How many letters marked “return to sender”

must one receive before the dark realization 

strikes a cord 

 

in the head of this dreamy-eyed

fatherless fool?

 

I can take the candles from the cake ,

one     by     one

and count the memories

 

without you in them,

wash dishes so tears

turn to soap scum

before anyone notices

the faded smile 

 

and close thoughts away in the cupboard

as if nothing ever happened.

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