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poetry: candlelight

if you want to mold something out of beeswax you must first warm it in your hands. tuck fragrant squares between palms. make an oven.

when my kids’ hands were small, we’d combine our warmth. tiny cupped hands held tight in my tired ones. turn hard into soft.

on our first family vacation, the kids filled the backseat with a menagerie of figurines. six hours of fairies and flowers. snails and gnomes.

we carried them stuck on the tops of our suitcases into our hotel room. little waxy travelers. they covered chairs, the mini-fridge, our shoes.

what must the hotel staff thought of these lumpy things. these fairytale abstractions smelling of honey. our fragile childhood treasure.

i don’t know, but each time we returned the scenes were changed. as if they had come to life to play while we were away. magic creating magic.

those days have passed, but this candle brings it back. a bright amber thread i can light whenever I like. motherhood shining in the palm of my hand.

I can’t resist sharing some photos from that first family trip.

53 thoughts on “poetry: candlelight”

  20. Your post is a beautiful journey through the warmth of family memories. The way you’ve described molding beeswax with your kids’ small hands and the magic of their figurines during a family vacation is so heartwarming. It’s as if those moments are brought back to life by the candle’s amber glow, a tangible connection to your motherhood journey. Thanks for sharing this touching story; it’s a reminder of the enduring power of love and memories. 💫🕯️❤️

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