Candles

The nurses tell him it's
his Birthday, and he asks
what day of the week it is.

He does not remember,
but when he was twenty-one,
fifty-six people wrote on his facebook wall.
Smiling faces made
with a colon and parentheses.
A day recognized by fifty-six people,
now dearly departed or simply
disappeared--
leaving a digital graveyard full
of artificial memories and half-hearted sentiments.

When the nurses ask if he has plans
for the day,
he tells them about his mother.
How she always seemed to look right through him--
wishing this day had never occurred.
The nurses express their condolences,
and he wonders why.

In walks a woman with a birthday cake.
He asks her why
she never loved him, and she tells him
he is confused.
Choosing to ignore this lapse in
memory, his daughter smiles.
She tells him to make a wish.
Frail frame bent forward,
his face glows with the light of
ninety-one shimmering candles,
and he cannot help but wonder
why.