by Andrea Hollander
It was the last night. The flame seemed to float
above the low pool left in the bottom
of the glass vase turned black from days
of burning. My sisters bought a cake
and we stood in the kitchen
as they sang the requisite verse, all of us
thinking instead of the man
whose presence hovered through the house
along with this new emptiness. But now
I had to deal with these flickering
candles, pink and thin and quickly
disappearing. I wished for health
for all of us, happiness, long lives.
In the living room the flame was spent.
In a single breath I blew the candles out.