By the sea
My Writing Desk
Two sea green candles in polished brass
decorate the top of antique secretary
I use for writing.
They shimmer, spilling ocher light
over darkly tanned hands and paper,
casting crawling shadows.
The light, not quite adequate enough
to penetrate the pigeonholes of this old desk
and reveal many treasures hidden within.
Their meager warmth is welcome
this quiet, frosty night.
My secretary, painted ivory white
with carvings trimmed in gold leaf,
easily reflects the candlelight.
I reach for reading glasses,
pen with black ink
and begin to scribble my thoughts.
So many wounds I have known.
So many moments I have loved,
yet I reach for more.
Greedy, I suppose.
Years ago I wrote a poetic eulogy
for my mother while sitting at this desk.
I remember watching
as tears fell, smearing the ink of my words.
Even then there were candles
and falling tears
were the color of fire.
This desk has also seen many happy poems born
and many written for the purpose
of offering hope.
It is a fine desk,
having served many generations
of family well.
along with the poetry it contains
and all the treasures secreted within,
it will belong to my son.
By then, my candles will long since
be burned out.
Perhaps he will light a couple of his own.
There is more depth to the heart than the mind can comprehend and it only has boundaries when we choose to fence it in.