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Opening Candlewick
Honorable Mention
Opening Candlewick
Patricia Cresswell
she speaks with gentleness to the walls
leaves her memories and hopes in words
between the layers of fresh spring paint
she finds her mother and grandmother’s there
rising up before, whispering their lives
as the brush passes in loving ritual strokes
across scrubbed pine planks
intricately, through each other, are woven
all the years of summer days
for even nights are days stretched out across
the fabric of remembrance
small goodnight prayers fill the cracks and spells
recited around midnight fires
mix smokily into the faded shades
tales of fish this big, hide amongst the shelves
beside tattered, love worn fairy tales
soft kisses of first love, a baby’s hungry cry
ephemeral iron that bind this aged dwelling
into forever
buckets of colour empty
blues, greens, gold and white
dried by gusted winds, brief visitors,
who detour toward the lake
they carry potions of laughter, droplets of tears
that sift between the evergreens
and sink into the rocks and soil
she washes the brushes
sets them out on the porch to dry
immersed in sounds
forever return echoes of all the children
who ran, bare brown bodies
slipping free of convention
while grown ups slept oblivious
forever, come back the sighs
as eyes peer to catch the last glimpse
life closing in around the magic
as a setting for some precious jewel
she tends to its needs and
the cottage abides
in the sun drenched, cedar scented
whisps of joy between each year
Candlewick is a living thing of the heart
carved out of that enduring blend of
childhood and memories.
it will live, always.
Copyright ©
Patricia Cresswell
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