In memory of Mother           

The constant flame
lit last evening
still trembles in the quiet
of early morning.
My bare feet slide,
silk against white-oak floors.

Alone in the flush of dawn
elbows on the kitchen counter,
I lean into shadows,
welcome the silence,
not wanting to share this moment
with filling the kettle, brewing tea
or early morning news.

The candle flickers.
My palms encircle warm glass,
a fragile beacon at sunrise.
Memory drifts to another time,
another kitchen

shimmering candles
honoring grandparents I never knew,
aware of the generations
as this ancient tradition continues.

Streetlights snap off.  Morning
filters through cotton curtains—
the candle will burn until sundown.

She is with me
as I open the front door, reach
for the paper.

A neighbor walks his dog, waves
and I begin to move
into the light of a new day.

This poem was previously published in Sharon Munson’s book, That Certain Blue (1st World Publishing, 2011).