Howie Good alt

MEDITATIONS ON A CANDLE FLAME

1

Best sometimes to ignore

what’s going on in my head

the joyful pops of static

and step off the curb

with the thousands who breathe

through paper face masks

the U-boats so close to shore

a chorus girl in a Miami penthouse

could see men die in flaming oil

2

I was remembering the fire the mad housepainter set. One man gasped at the verisimilitude of the flames. Another wept, though in relief or grief I couldn’t say. The crowd kept growing. Punches were thrown, children trampled, everyone fighting for a better view of the blackened corpses, the mounds of rubble. The thing I thought was about to happen might yet. I rush off to warn the barren woman who dwells in the firelight as a mother of four.

3

In my palm

a little yellow pill

like a pinhole

of light,

something

to bear away

the black

butterfly,

the shadow

sloppily licking

a spoon.