She is
not your spotlight
Focusing attention in the darkness
calling everyone to look
So you see
What it is you can do.
Not your search light
To guide you into harbor
when you’ve sailed your ships
Against warning
Into black and chopped waves.
Not to blame for
Being the siren who lured you back.
She was singing for herself
Not the mirror you held up
So she could see the faults
Not her hand that
Turned and burned you instead
The silence of your fury
Louder than the
Sighs of your disinterest.
Not your torch,
to frighten back creatures
You don’t understand.
She has her own monsters
creeping to her doors
and learning her language.
Carrying torches
Only grinds down
arthritic arms.
She put hers down.
She can’t do it
Too heavy.
The lights are too bright.
headaches are
far too dug in and planted
Photosynthesis the
Power line to
Migration.
Her own screwed in
Halogen
Fluorescent
Mixed white and blue and
Orange
Not matching when seen back
in her balanced eyes.
Her palms aren’t
Scarred and fibrous
As as her heart
to hold the light bulb
In place with bare hands.
It’s low watt but
Still
her fingers blister
fluid leaking
slipping
And she doesn’t have the grip
To twist
Your glass fragile
Illumination
In place.
She is candles and
altars with incense.
Low glow and quiet alone
With her disciple.
One you whispers,
knowing a harsh breath
kills the flame.
Happy in the room
She left dark.
The sun rises tomorrow
Isn’t it pretty to think
So dawn soft
Smoothed hair
Hazy unfocused
hands
Touched in shadows.
Chasing away the light
For just a little longer
Not needing to be
The brightness
But wanted to be
the still silhouette
Casting her own
Direction.
From her light.