Powerless Night Poem by Toni Atchison

How nice and bright our house is
while others sit darkly brooding,
without the magic that makes then
warm and bright.
Lucky me,
I am surrounded by candles
in shades of white or red,
of peach or blue or green.
The room is an infused quilt
of warm scented patches
in colors of vanilla, apples and peaches-
and one that claims the smell of oceans.
And the trickster wind strains itself through the screen
to bring me the scents of rain and earth
and green growing things
to mingle with the wax,
and the scent-sound of
my neighbors' generater
as he curses his garage door closed.
I try to read by candlelight but,
distracted by a devious wind,
watch lovely scenes of ebony and ivory across the walls-
harsh and still by lamplight-
have grown soft and sweetly glowing by candle.
My cats watch the slow waltz of shadowplay,
so usually absent,
suffused tonight with frantic lives,
breathed full by wind and flame.
I share a snack of crackers and cheese
with my extrovert cat,
hearing the sounds that hide so well
behind the veils of the civilized world.
And then someone quotes the Bible
and throws a switch,
and the miracle re-occures.
I take care of the clean-up chores
of blowing out candles and
re-programming the electronic wardens
that rule our lives
(and insist on speaking French to me,
in spite of my English limitations) ,
and I wonder, briefly though,
if my neighbors spent their night
half as happily as I did?

2005