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| JOEL TOLEDO |
| All Souls |
| THE AUTHOR HOLDS THE COPYRIGHT TO THIS POEM. THIS IS POSTED WITH PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR. |
| THIS IS PART OF THE LITERATURA READING SERIES | CLICK HERE TO GO BACK TO LITERATURA |
| Sometimes one wonders where mercy goes
after electricity. Or after the dead return to the antechambers of memory. Like tonight--I'm busy watching candles. Mother says they must burn true, guarded from wind. Respect for the departed is a beautiful, grateful light. Or a lot of it. We've placed twelve candles around the house for the day of souls. There's been no power for the last few hours; No one's sure when it will be restored. For the meantime, I stare and marvel at the contours of flickering candlelight. There's nothing much else to do; wonder is a good distraction while one considers the gathered sweat and pushes back a prayer. The dead have gone and the night is getting darker, deepening to its natural blackness. One eventually gives in to supplication. Lord Almighty, we want our MTV. Anything but this. One by one the candles burn down to frail light balanced on wicks, going out when one's not looking, a sudden breeze betraying a lifetime of vigilance. The night is harsh, old and we stumble, invisible, powerless. This poem is part of the collection that won Second Prize for Poetry in the 2004 Palanca Awards |