Tealight

I light a candle because I want
To take back my time.
I want to hold the seconds
Close.

This little golden teardrop
This flame
Carries all the magic I could hope for.

I won’t turn out the lights
I’m not that dramatic.
But with wax and heat on my side,
I can sit across from exhaustion
And meet its eyes like
An old friend
I’m allowed to say
“No” to.


I Can See My Breath

In winter
The air asks nothing of me
And every green
Growing thing
Relaxes a little into
Soil suddenly damp.
In winter there is a
Splendid magnolia tree
Made of shade and lichen
And tucked away behind
A rainy wooden house
Which reminds me
Of dandelions and
Delicate window panes
Of wide-eyed ghosts in the attic
And smoky moths
Splayed unexpectedly against the walls
Like the underbellies of
Mushrooms,
Like ancient lace.
The little house sits with
Its secrets
Seeping the magic of
Old photographs.
That silence snags me
I pause and breathe for a moment
Memorizing.
In winter I wander by.


I Was Just Sitting There

Curled in a stairway corner
Quietly chewing almonds
Which tasted like soil and strength
When a door crashed inward
And a boy came running.
(He didn’t see me)
He vaulted over five steps
Flew for a moment
Then laughed and ran clumsily
Down a hallway
I could see all the way to the end of.