Brialee Turner

We are crowded around the wooden table,
And then the soft carpeted flooring,
Singing together
And we sound terrible.

We tried to match the tones
Of our neighbors but have
Failed miserably.
And we want each
Of the candles on the
Baked morsel to be lit
Before we present it to
The star of the evening.

And so as the designated
Fire starter fumbles with the
Lighter, we sing so slowly that
The notes get all tangled with one
Another and we are all giggling
As we sing.

Once all of the melting wax sticks
Have light emanating from their tips,
The star of the evening
Extinguishes them in one
Full breath.

It’s a glowing and
Celebratory moment that I wish could
Last forever and tried to hold onto
With the music notes,
But I failed.

It’s bittersweet and golden.