A piece of left over birthday cake my neighbor gives me. That evening, I light a candle, and believe for a minute it’s my birthday, not the 82 year old down the block. Chocolate with lots of sugary icing — too sweet, but what I always want, wanted, usually denied.
I imagine a party, friends, drinks, we’re outside, there are lanterns, dogs, quiet in the grass. I see myself, happy. Absorbed. Seen.