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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3976 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Festival of Lights Charles Levenstein Lamps burn in every room, some on poles, modestly, functionally attired; others coifed and draped, set by the bed; one long and ancient biddy, her luminescence harsh and uncompromising, is hardly lit. Young ones, recessed, intense, illuminate the darkest corners. Grandpa, a monstrosity in wrought iron, stolen away from a railroad station ages ago, no longer flashes gaslights, still provides electronic home for candle simulations, proud to do it. On the desk is an impossible creation, dangerous to touch, unlikely to change. Late at night when all are sleeping tiny signal lights, red, green and yellow, indicate readiness: the coffee machine, computers, humidifier, all the necessities. Still, this week she takes candelabra from the mantle, scrubs off waste wax, finds the tapers her mother carried up from New Jersey, places them in the holders, hopes that I will remember the old prayers and not mutter some fiendish thing in Sanskrit. |
