Burnt Braided Cotton

My mom’s morning routine used to include

Lighting whatever candle she had sitting beside the fish bowl

The house always smelling of blueberry pancakes, cinnamon or sugar cookies

Though she has since moved on to a candle warmer

In favor of the stronger aroma and how much longer it takes to dissipate

I still find comfort in surrounding myself with the soft lighting and subtle smells

This morning, in the midst of my own routine

As I lit a candle I have been burning each day for the last few weeks

And struggled to light the sad bit of thread left in barely half an inch of wax

I thought about the way some people are often treated

I imagined the spines that support them as wicks

Running through the center of their bodies

Molded and uniquely designed

No scent the same

I am infatuated by how each flame

When burning brilliantly, dances to a different beat

Though all still emit a radiant light and comforting heat

So with a box of matches called curiosity and selfishness the spark

They are constantly set ablaze to warm others when it’s dark

Slowly melting away until the fire barely hovers

And everything that made them feel beautiful has evaporated

No longer smelling of baked goods but the burnt braided cotton

That once stood tall in the center of what was a vibrant pillar

And I am left searching for another candle to burn

SWD 03/2018

Updated 06/2018

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Antsafanou says:

    heart moving

    Liked by 1 person

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