Birthday Week

They feel obliged
to tell me what
they really think,
as if this
were going to be their last

chance. I spend the days
squirming in the
forgotten past. I draw
more of the wrong
connections between

memories. The candles
on the cake
burn out
before I can
blow at them.

I want to go back
to the silken rooms,
personal paradise
of private
memory.