The Smallest Cake

My nephew’s party: a hired clown,

a castle that scraped the sky.

It made me think, looking around,

of a simpler, quiet time.

My tenth birthday, just Nana and me.

No guests, no fuss, no grand design.

A single cupcake, imperfectly

frosted, barely hers and mine.

The pink swirl, a little bit bent,

the hum of the fridge, a steady beat.

Her armchair, where we quietly spent

that afternoon, bittersweet.

That day held everything,

just not for show.