One pink and red candle-
wax dripping hot.
I burned my knuckle and sucked the sore.
It wept.
Anyway,
I met a boy last night
and everything made sense.
I wrapped him in my blanket
and looked into his eyes.
I swore after the first,
and I didn’t;
I never did,
Until now.
He smiles at me
and all is forgotten.
Body and blood.
Strange Eucharist.
He believed me-
wrapped in my blanket
and dancing with the chill.
Everything became so clear;
It is you!
A Puck-
A Lazarus.
A prince?
I laugh and applaud from the back of the theater.
The red candle burns.
The wax drips.
And I cry.
Not from sorrow nor pain,
But because the world has finally un-fogged
itself.
And I can see again.
I’m trying.
I am trying,
Darling.
For more poems like this one, check out “Guilt Trip” by Marin Poleshek.
