We travelled across Canada that summer,
and one night we stayed with a couple—
Sault Ste. Marie? Sudbury?
I don’t remember how we met them.
Very spiritual they were, and I,
still on my spiritual honeymoon.
The fellow was Catholic, and he
had Novena candles burning,
dozens of them, all over the apartment,
and I wondered what sort of guilt
he was trying to obviate.
They had a little girl. Was he
secretly wanting to leave?
Question: how many external candles
does it take to obviate
an internal guilt?
Answer: can’t be done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem