Candlestick

Candlestick held aloft
when lights went out
heavy braided dented bronze
Made more opaque
velvet black the dark
a perfect pitch emanates
that’s blessed by light
not as eyes adjusted
stumbling sees in part
The candles lit all eight
solidify the dark foreboding
presence as storms rage on
and wind picks up
and throws as if all flimsy
Passed down a Master
long before bestowed
carefully wrapped
in soft flannelette
extracted from its box
for wedding breakfasts and
wakes when priest would
come to bless dying relatives
for hope and fear of spirits
roaming land to gather souls
in parlours; curtains open or unlit
The lone bequest of value
ancestral strength in battle
through famine abandonment
of all connection words
unspoken and unloved
No knowing what next
the storm threatens
roof reefing destruction
yet know daylight promises to
come, that this candle light
alone suffices in the darkest night.