(Cake and Candles ) This is Not a Poem.

He blew out the candles atop the pile of dough with doubt in his eyes. The smoke rising to the ceiling as he looked at his feet. Blessings and wishes are only for the ones who can stand waiting and never receiving. He said to himself. “Where does the grant come from if not someplace real that doesn’t know who I am and doesn't hear my soft childish whisper in want?” If the place from which wishes are granted is real, why hadn’t any of his previous wishes come true? At age 11, his childish, hopeful mind began to leave him to be replaced by the doubt and fear that haunts every aged person. He began the journey away from the soft, kind, untethered soul of a child, to a broken, burdened man. Little did the ones at his party know he became a man the moment he blew out the flames. The cake was a symbol. Cake and candles. They aren’t about birth, they are about death. Each year blowing out candles into wax blobs where childhood flames once burned. Sugar and fat prepare the body for an ultimate death by nutritional cause. They sing the tune over and over to the boy. The song that was made to remind children that time is of the essence. It’s eerie notes penetrate his heart and turn him into dust with each word. He fakes a smile and laugh, wishes for that toy that every 11 year old boy wants these days. Too scared to wish for what he really wanted. Too doubtful that it could ever be. Everyone cheers but inside, this child is changed. In the breath of his mouth, with the puff of candle smoke, he blew away the last bit of his make believe.