Just Five

The cake was small, a kind of hump,

iced thin, a sweet and sugary lump.

My mother's hands, they made it true,

the candles melted, two by two.

Just three of us, no grand display,

just soft light on a quiet day.

I blew them out, a shaky breath,

and felt a joy like coming death

of something small, a perfect peace.

That single crayon, a bright release

from bigger things, the noise, the fuss.

It was enough, just three of us.

No wider world, just quiet light,

and cake, and five, just right.