Ever since Zoë was born Warren and I debate whether or not to get a tree. I remind him the tree is really a pagan tradition. So some years we call it our Hanukkah bush. This year we once again debated when Zoë requested a small tree. After lunch we all loaded into the car and made a short trip to a farm we have enjoyed over the last several years. We chose what I thought was a small tree. However once in the house it was not so skinny or tiny. Lights on the tree will poke little holes in the blackness. This tree only has to last another eight days. We are hoping there are no minor pet/tree disasters. We will reminisce over holidays from other years, eat well, maybe gamble and remember the miracle of light.
Season of Skinny Candles
A row of tall skinny candles burns
quickly into the night
air, the shames raised
over the rest
for its hard work
Darkness rushes in
after the sun sinks
like a bright plug pulled.
Our eyes drown in night
thick as ink pudding
When even the moon
starves to a sliver
of quicksilver
the little candles poke
holes in the blackness.
A time to eat fat
and oil, a time to gamble
for pennies and gambol
around the table, a light
and easy holiday.
No disasters, no
repentance, just remember
and enjoy. The miracle
is really eight days
and nights without trouble.
–Marge Piercy, from The Crooked Inheritance, Knopf Doubleday, 2006
“shames” [line 3] is the middle candle that lights the others every night