Citronella

Jennifer Paige©1998

Wick buried

            She digs

Her fingers plowing masterfully

            Through warmed wax

Peeling

            Pulling

                        Pushing

Wax to where two other candles

            Burn silently, light for the deed

This ritual rural

            Domestic bliss

To pretend in a porch swing

            At nightfall

Warm and content beside her

            The house quiet

            The lawn fed

            Breeze asleep

            The ardent yellow scent on her fingers

Surrounding her in a bug-free haze

To pretend this is enough

            For two vagabond souls

            Who got a second chance

            (at what?)

Is puzzling, foreign

If discovered,

            Will the wick light?

            Stay lit?

            Burn till its last days?

Is it enough to ward off the

            Pests stalking the dark?

Or burn the house down?

But the dream undreamed

            Cannot become reality

Peeling the wax from her fingers

            And coaxing it from beneath her nails,

            She smiles, wick discovered,

And strikes the lighter to

            Flame the wick…

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