Scented Candle

 

Cliché of the autumnal display

at the pharmacy, indisputably

cloying by nature, Scented Candle calls

all cinnamon and pumpkin-pie,

caramel apple, clove,

mulled cider, donut, maple butter,

fresh-cut wreath,

vanilla double bourbon.

 

No need to go outside

Scented Candle says—no need

to bake or gather.  It knows

I’d rather strike a match

and watch Netflix.

A seasonal enabler.

 

The glass bowl rests solid

in my palm and feels like

something real.  This smooth

plane of unmelted wax invites

like a just-Zambonied rink.

Here is a still-white wick

I can trim just right and it will catch

then burn into a perfect pool,

a cranberry red puddle not yet

fallen below its own high-tide mark.

 

Remember the cupboard of half-

burned candles?  But something turns

in me, decays like a threadbare

yellowed leaf.  It’s candle season

I’m in.

—–

 

[prompt: “Extraordinary in Ordinary”- pick an ordinary object and make it extraordinary. You can do it by giving it some special attributes or a different background and story.]