I have struggled to write tonight. I have been sitting at the screen for a couple of hours and have three or four beginnings to poems that should not be finished. Somewhere in my search for something, I remembered a poem I wrote many years ago–when I was teaching high school–and it has remained important to me. The seed of the poem came from watching one kid in particular struggle to find his worth even though he was, to those other than him, a really good guy.
When I looked back through the blog, I found I had never posted it. So, in lieu of yammering on about how I can’t figure out what to say, I thought I would post it tonight.
high school
start with a
thousand candles
blow out one
no one will notice
this one here
on the edge
blow it out
no one will notice
blow out one
each night
how could one
matter much
come back in a
thousand nights
the light over
the kitchen sink
goes out with the
flick of a switch
the light inside
dies incrementally
Peace,
Milton
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