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POETRY
Lamps
Swimming in pools of yellow light,
we tread through twilight.
The lamps preside to offer guidance,
pert electric candelabra,
stoic on table tops, lighthouses
for the eyes, little fires that
tell the world someone’s at home.
Draped over furniture like
unfolded laundry, the body
decompresses, coming up
for air after long hours spent being a dynamo
in the depths of human enterprise.
Evening: the prize after wearing a day.
Mary Oliver wrote a poem about lighting lamps, and I think about it often. (Also, it’s better than mine so I suggest you read it!) I have a lot of old lamps that I inherited from my Grandmother, who had a house full of them. They are nicer than any I would be willing to buy myself, plus they’re retro now and that makes me happy. The photo I’ve shared here is of a lamp that sat for years in the corner of my Grandfather’s office. Every time I look at it, I think of him! (The table underneath is made from a wooden trash can holder that was also in his office. One of the spindles came off a long time ago and our cats had a good time using it as a temporary playpen when they were kittens! Everything passed down can have a new life.)
Thanks for reading!
