Season of skinny candles

S
A row of tall skinny candles burns
quickly into the night
air, the shames raised
over the rest
for its hard work

Darkness rushes in
after the sun sinks
like a bright plug pulled.
Our eyes drown in night
thick as ink pudding

When even the moon
starves to a sliver
of quicksilver
the little candles poke
holes in the blackness.

A time to eat fat
and oil, a time to gamble
for pennies and gambol
around the table, a light
and easy holiday.

No disasters, no
repentance, just remember
and enjoy. The miracle
is really eight days
and nights without trouble.




*shames: the middle candle that lights the others every night
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