One Candle

The rain fell hard that tenth year,

a gray sheet outside.

Dad came home, his presence clear,

with nowhere left to hide

his weariness. He brought a cake,

small, from the corner shop.

Chocolate, for goodness sake,

it made my young heart hop.

He stuck one candle in the top,

it leaned a little, bent.

When I blew out, it made me stop

and watch the smoke ascend.

His smile was tired, but it was there,

a quiet, soft approval.

No loud songs, no one to stare,

just simple, deep removal

from all the usual noise.

That smallness felt so large.

A quiet joy, the best of joys,

my father in his charge.