I wish

That when I close my eyes and blow
Out the candles this Saturday,
That I don’t spit on the cake,
Or ruin a perfect thing.

That I’ll think of a wish
Just right
Not too greedy, or vague, or too
Susceptible to backfiring,
And that the smoke won’t smother my face,
Choke up my throat.

That there are no burnt fingers or waxy
Puddles in the frosting.
No trick candles.

That 15 will be the best year yet, that the cake will be spongy and
The icing not to heavy.
That the blue and yellow flowers
Will come alive off the chocolate cream,
Dancing, intertwining, perfuming my gel-scripted name.
Never coming down to be chewed and swallowed,
Digested and judged.

I wish that the glow of the flames will be beautiful,
My face luminescent and glowing,
And everyone will clap
And take pictures

And see the truth
In me.

Now, this Saturday, and for the rest of my life.