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.



Beautiful Elaine.