HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Your birthday again.
Another year, not of life,
but of memories moving further back.
Images that over the years
have sifted themselves,
leaving only strange residue
that makes no rhyme or reason.
I close my eyes as if making a wish
and the candles that light my mind are:
Your retreat to the bathroom after dinner
to smoke your cigarette.
And I suspect, to get away from us all still at the table.
Your lifelong quest to make science of the imperfect art
of making reeds for your bassoon.
The sound of that bassoon as you practiced,
always beginning with the notes
that to me became your voice,
that little riff from the Mozart concerto.
Your refusal to ever answer a question
in the belief that we must first try
to figure it out for ourselves.
The many April 15ths with you sitting amidst
papers and receipts at the dining room table.
Your nose indented with the impression of
the eyeglasses lying before you on the table.
Your boxer shorts and undershirt —
did you really wear them all day when you were home,
my father?
Your sense of humor.
It saved us all.
These are the candles
that light my mind on your birthday
as I stop and take a few moments to wish you . . .
were here.


© Ellen Azorin