The Birthday Cake

September contains, in quick succession, the anniversary of my sister's death, closely followed by my niece's birthday.  This year inspired me to write a poem, kind of commemorating both. 

Making my niece a cake has been a painful privilege each year - I'm glad I could do it for her, whilst, at the same time, it underlines, afresh, the missing person who would make it for her, before.  This year I didn't actually make the cake, as her Daddy has become a cake-master, but, for poetic licence in the poem, I did!  

Anyway...here is the poem.  Enjoy...I think!

The Birthday Cake

Mummy

made me a cake,

once,

in the shape of a dinosaur.

 

Its long, fondant-icing neck,

stretched

to the edge of the board,

bulbous and pink.

 

She had tears in her eyes,

as she carried it in.

The adults exchanged glances.

One guffawed.

Mummy giggled.

 

I wasn’t sure why,

but I think they

liked the cake very much

and were proud

of Mummy,

as cakes weren’t really her thing.

 

I remember it,

because I asked for it

and she made it.

I felt happy

in the warm glow

from the candles

and from her smile.

 

One year,

my Auntie

had to make my cake instead.

Mummy

couldn’t make cakes any more.

I asked for chocolate cake

with chocolate buttons

and my Auntie

spread them

all across the cake,

and joined some together,

in the shape of a

six,

for me.

 

The adults’ eyes

Had tears in  this time, too.

They sang

And I blew out

Six candles.

 

I think it had

only been six days,

that birthday,

since Mummy had to go,

so there wasn’t

much warmth

from smiles or candles,

though the adults did their best

and my Auntie’s cake

tasted good.

 

I had nine candles,

this year.

Each year,

my Auntie asks me

and I say the same –

chocolate cake

with chocolate buttons.

 

When my Auntie

carries in the cake,

candles dancing,

we look,

each into the other’s eyes

and smile.

 

I sometimes think

she’s remembering

Mummy,

and I am too,

and we both understand,

somehow,

 

that we’re each searching,

for that expression,

that reflection,

that glimmer

of the eyes

that shared DNA,

that makes us both

a little bit like

her,

 

so that we both feel

that she’s still with us,

somehow,

laughing,

as the candle flames dance,

like she did at the dinosaur cake,

 

marking with us,

somewhere,

the passing

of another year.

My niece with one of my cakes

The famous dinosaur cake!