BIRTHDAY

Jane is pushing eighty, and day by day
She walks across the drawbridge from Maine
To visit her [centenarian] mother in
A New Hampshire nursing home. Yesterday

Was birthday number one hundred and two, and Jane
Had baked a birthday cake and brought it over–
Chocolate cake with icing made from toffee,
Her mother’s long-time favorite once again,

This time carrying one tall candle and two
Short ones. Mother was sleeping, hard to rouse;
Her eyelids flickered briefly, sank to drowse
Again. Jane said, “Happy Birthday! Do you

Know who I am?” The eyes opened big
And peered and dully answered, “Thingamajig.”

(44, August 18, 1992)

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