Small Flame

Saw that kid today, hat slipping,

cake crumbs on his chin,

parents with their phones, just flipping

through poses, for the 'win.'

Too much light, too many hands.

A staged parade of plastic things.

Makes you forget what joy demands:

a quiet room, a heart that sings.

My sixth, I think. Not much to tell.

Grandma, cocoa in a chipped mug,

one cupcake, store-bought, tasted well.

Just her, and me, a whispered hug.

One candle, small, it flickered bright.

No cameras, no big fuss or show.

Just steady warmth against the night.

That’s all it took, you know.