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Table of Contents for Issue 11

This work first appeared in Gargoyle, issue #11. Please respect the fact that this material is copyrighted. It is made available here without charge for personal use only. It may not be stored, displayed, published, reproduced, or used for any other purpose without the express consent of the author or artist.

Candle Poetry

Joyce Merritt

My neighbor is a poet.
As I twirl my pen on a piece of paper at my desk,
I hear someone outside
whistle
in praise of the candles
the poet keeps in the windows of his house.

He appears on his porch in the suede coat he bought
when a selection of his poems was chosen for the Norton Anthology.
My copy falls open to the spot,
the halves split on his lines.
He carries a flame in his eyes as he walks away.

I steal to his door.
The banister shrinks under my hand
as I follow the stairway to the highest candle
which glows across the blank page on his desk
and a book,
How to Write Poetry in Your Own Style.
I reach to open the cover
and the light darts from me.
The print hides in the shadow.
I growl.
As I lunge at his candle,
the back door rattles.
I run out the front,
clutching the candle,
and the air blows it out.

I rub my hands over it,
kneel by it,
chant,
"Fire, fire, rise again,
rise and burn when I count ten."
My rhyme shrivels.
In my window is a black wick.

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