Delicate Candle
I never understood how fast an afternoon could fade
until the chair you loved sat quiet in the room,
as though the sun itself limited our time.
Your heart was a warm campfire
on the coldest of evenings,
and in those moments,
you told me of days
when the tea kettle’s whistling
wove through a home
that had forgotten your name.
You taught me
that a candle loses nothing
by lighting another.
But you were the candle,
the first flame I could follow.
“You’ve been hearing my story
so patiently for a lifetime,”
you murmured,
though it was the last season of yours.
Still, your tongue became a flow
of sweet memories,
and I caught each one,
collecting the last sweetness of summer.
When you left,
you bled the sky into your veins,
and the sun itself slipped out of orbit.
Now stars hide in the frame of your picture,
as if night itself mourned your absence.
Still, I sing a secret song to you
each night we are apart,
a reminder that the path to heaven
is paved with the hands that stayed
and the kindness given freely
in the final light of your days.
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