 
Sean McCormick provided that picture for today's One Stop Poetry 
Picture Challenge. This is what the image made me think of:
The childhood house, 
torn down to a sprawl of stones,
has a doorframe
that contracts with cold.
Bitter enough to shrink 
the room where the birthday boy 
is blowing on trickster candles, 
where striped wax melts 
through singed fingers, 
still he blows.
What ripples from that—
walls within walls 
far from the only window still open,
ghosted curtains billowing into the light 
alive with silver
from so many extinguished stars.
 
   
    
    
    
        Published on February 13, 2011 07:19