Scented candles

Summer days burned like scented candles.

Flames bent to drafts we could not feel.

Whiffs of smoke vandalized the brightness of time,

smudged the walls of tomorrow’s room.

Slow ruin settled in like urban squatters.

Residue learned our names, waited in corridors of breath,

COPD grew mold in our chest and now speaks

in pidgin coughs and adjectives of phlegm.

Retelling stories of the joy of rummaging for

cheap fragrant candles in thrift store discount bins.

Bargains we carried home like pirates and lit with butane lighters

we carried in the pockets of button fly jeans.

While sweet scented ghosts testify in our ears that once

we lived brightly, burned willing and loved foolishly.

4-21-26