MY NAME IS LIGHT

Those empty plates that lie beside the spoons
are white and barren as November's moons;
the candle on the table brings no scent,
but time is never given--only lent.

Strike up the match and touch it to dry bones;
a barbeque of all our sad night moans
and fears that choke us while we yearn but starve--
the world has done enough to dredge and carve

a cruel gulf to keep us separate.
The gumbo's on the stove; come fill your plate.
The days that stretch ahead we cannot know;
the candle burns too quickly or melts slow,

but now my kitchen glows with hottest flame.
Cross the line, come close, and know my name.

eleanor
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