Candle

 A Birthday Candle 

It was our niece’s thirty-fifth birthday. My sister and I were visiting her in Northern Ireland. We went shopping and bought her the backpack she wanted and ate a delicious lunch in what used to be a linen mill. Linen was what their town of Moygashel used to be all about. We went back to their small house with a yellow orange rose in the picket-fenced yard. We had birthday cake, which was a collection of sweets that we had gathered over the past few days and some ice cream. No place for birthday candles. Her husband had that covered with a twelve-inch candle that more resembled fireworks, shooting sparks up about two feet into the air. Meg stood there, holding the candle, surprised and a bit shocked as we sang happy birthday. The song ended as the smoke alarm sounded. We had a good laugh after the last spark and the alarm’s screech died down. 

As the sparks flew up
I wondered what she wished for
On her thirty-fifth