A boy should never be left alone
with a candle. A wick will anticipate,
see his sailing, puckered lips, and flinch,
race away from his poor wind
right up the curtains. My, how those
will sing! You see, it’s not the devil
you have to worry about, but the angels,
that thunderous choir of the Old Testament,
sent to punish the curious in the guise of light.

He won’t run or call out. He’ll get lost
in the daydream: superhero, fireman,
dousing with one very large cup of water.
Flame-licked suits in the closet will wave
their now limber arms: Get out, you idiot!
But he won’t. All those drills, the rope ladder
stashed uselessly beneath his bed.
He won’t run because he’ll still be staring
at the candle: dumb flame, innocuous and small,
dazzled and wheezing, just like him, rooted

until the black hand of smoke snakes its way
across the ceiling to draw the breath
from his mouth like a sweet, first kiss.
That’s when he’ll remember to turn,
stumble, past the glowing knob, operatic panes
bursting from their frames, past the front hedges,
still green and quivering at the pale smoke
leaking from his oval, innocent mouth.

Jennifer Gresham has a Ph.D. in biochemistry from the University of Maryland. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including Gargoyle, Main Street Rag, New York Quarterly, and The Atlanta Review, among others. Her poetry has also been featured on Garrison Keillor's NPR radio show, "The Writer's Almanac." She is the author of two collections: Explaining Relativity to the Cat, a chapbook from Pudding House Press, and Diary of a Cell, winner of the 2004 Steel Toe Books Poetry Prize.
More information on Jennifer Gresham’s new book
  __________________________________________________________ home