Poem: A Familiar Candle

A little background, I wrote this awhile ago.  It is a very poor attempt at a villanelle (form of poetry).  The poem is about my mother, who's been on my mind a lot recently.  She was a heavy smoker and one of the fondest memories I have of her is of me as a child sneaking down in the middle of the night for a glass of water and seeing only the glowing ember of her lit cigarette in the darkness.  I know that might sound weird, but I guess it was just comforting to know that she was there. 

A Familiar Candle

How I did see the sun glow still and set

The fragmented color in your eyes, a slow-spent fuse,

Burning brighter than the tip of your lit cigarette.

The sound of a smile and the names you let

Creep out and fill the drywall jar, the vagrant shoes;

How I did see the sun glow still and set

Free the words tied to your mouth, a debt

As match to subtle flame or face to bruise

Burning brighter than the tip of your lit cigarette.

Breathlessly unlock the latent math, beget

The broken pencils in my head, the myriad golden hues.

How I did see the sun glow still and set

My mind to swimming in the sink, a net

Of spoons beneath my feet, the gentle temperament you’d use

Burning brighter than the tip of your lit cigarette.

Now in the dawn’s new sun the words condense and sweat

Extinguishing the ashes in your baby blues.

How I did see the sun glow still and set,

Burning brighter than the tip of your lit cigarette.