Season of skinny candles

A row of tall skinny candles burns

quickly into the night

air, the shames raised

over the rest

for its hard work

Darkness rushes in

after the sun sinks

like a bright plug pulled.

Our eyes drown in night

thick as ink pudding

When even the moon

starves to a sliver

of quicksilver

the little candles poke

holes in the blackness.

A time to eat fat

and oil, a time to gamble

for pennies and gambol

around the table, a light

and easy holiday.

No disasters, no

repentance, just remember

and enjoy. The miracle

is really eight days

and nights without trouble.

*shames: the middle candle that lights the others every night

Copyright Credit: Marge Piercy, "Season of Skinny Candles" from The Crooked Inheritance. Copyright © 2006 by Marge Piercy. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

Source: The Crooked Inheritance (Alfred A. Knopf, 2006)