The Willow & War Blog

Burn

I light a candle for the cake. My son turns one. A flame shapes the very face I kiss in the morning. The face I cradle in one hand. The one I wipe tears from.

I light a candle and wrap my fingers around the heat. To shield the wind. To keep it burning while we stand in the dark, praying the children would just come home, demanding recompense from the sky. Someone is yelling on the microphone. Someone is weeping.

I light a candle in the sanctuary. Silent night. Holy night. Eyes mirror and reflect and wander and search for something like hope. Flames flicker under threat of breathing. We breathe slowly. Silently.

I light a candle on a table. We hold hands. We break bread. We say thank you. Thank you for these hands to hold. Thank you we are here around a table. Thank you the flame is still burning. Thank you for the rivers of wax witnessing to the life in the fire.

I light a candle alone

and I am no longer alone.