“We are learning to make fire.” – Margaret Atwood
A Decant of Quietude
So much seems strange tonight,
as night is a stranger to daylight.
So strange. Uncharted. Unknown.
And I light a candle, thick and squat,
cold and white, and it decants slowly
into a molten spread of quietude.
I listen. I wait. I watch as he fills
a wine glass with courage, words he’d
never think to say. That glass filling
with giddy expression, that candle
light-hearted with fire, and I am
thinking, wondering, are we learning
to make fire. And then we burn.
Written for Poetic Bloomings