On one, the hankerchief girl greedily smooches

The cheek of the boy who has the look of a yodeling enthusiast.

When she makes her move,

A ball of yarn falls out of his knapsack,

And the flowers move to dodge it.

On the other, an even younger boy points at two honeybees

While a chubby-kneed toddling girl swings a bushel of flowers behind her back.

My mother was forever buying four of everything—

Two big. Two small. Man, woman, boy, girl.

When she was in seventh grade,

She whispered to her stepfather

That she was going to marry Richie, that nice boy from downstairs.

Years later, she assured Richie that they would have a boy first,

Exactly how she’d planned it.

Then a girl.

Then they did.

We were a perfect set.

The white-wicked, never-burned candles ask,

Did she want to be the girl kissing the boy with girlish glee?

The toddler summons my babyhood’s memories,

Their last honeybee breath taken when they burned away

Alongside her ashes.

I’m burning all my candles before I die.

No wick will wait forever.

The cherub-cheeked girl will always hang back from the threat of stings,

The little guy will always have his head towards the clouds,

And the other two will always be striking up an unlikely romance.

They never got to glow with flame.

We never got to see her eyes light up, holding our family

In Deutsche-kind miniature within her hands.

So tonight, I’m lighting the house on fire with the glow

Of a hundred candles that I will burn

To the quick before I’m dead.