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I’ve got so many candles that I’ve never
burned ...
a marriage candle,
a first communion candle from one of the kids,
a bicentennial candle,
a millennium candle.
So many candles that I’ve never burned.
However, her candle I’ve burned for over twenty years,
not every day, but most everyday.
A memory of what once was,
of what we’d had,
we, me and her.
Her candle,
originally voluptuously large,
beautifully ornate,
burning bright, hot and fast.
We were young then.
Gradually her candle became hollow
with most of the outside still holding fast.
Dusty with age.
The wick long lost.
Hollowness temporarily filled with a tea-light candle.
Certain songs, movies or moods
seem to rekindle the freshness,
remind me of when her candle was new.
In the light of day, reality blazes.
Her candle actually a hollow shell,
so hard to visualize as it once was,
as in last night’s memory.
Beginning to wonder,
continuing to wonder,
if after all this time,
I shouldn’t just throw it out.
This foolish vigil.
This senseless old man.
End this memorial, this ritual and move on.
But, as the room again grows dark,
the many candles that I’ve never burned,
remain so ...
A new tea candle
and she is back.
We, me and her.
Her candle .
And ... my thoughts
of twenty years ago.
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