The promises we make only by nightlights
candles and glow sticks.

There is something about nightlights that
have always made me want to confess my sins--
I usually want to tell the world
I'm sorry each midnight when I stay up
to watch the paper calendar peel
into into a new dark morning like
a scab yanked too soon-- I'm a bloody
marty for the sins I'm not sure are even mine--
we're growning rose bushes on our heads
these days-- I'm just vain enough to make
mine into a crown-- I'm sorry
because there were things I didn't
change and others that I didn't want to--
I'm sorry I'm not sad about being 
the kind of creature who takes penance 
in the form of measuring cups.
I'm sorry about there were people
I didn't tie-shoe laces for 
and other ones who  could only
see me as the fresh jar of clay
who is waiting for the slip to dry--
It might be because I was raised
in a cul-de-sac of candles and white
robes that could make any body
into a roll of paper towels
adorned with charcoal crosses 
made from ash and palms-- charcoal to write
the details of soul-- cracked
like a glow stick over
a bond fire when I told you I only
like to set fire to marshmallows--
I don't have the patience for
anything but fire-- unfold to 
to times I've wiped matches
from the green chalk boards of my forearms--
Oh lord, my mother Mary with 
our lady daughters in candle crowns
made of the dead stars that find themselves
in heaven-- 
I tell you I am dust and to
nightlights I shall return to 
tell my father by my bedside
that I was a dinosaur today at recess--
I wore T-Rex costume and felt too
big to fit under a maple tree
that was bleeding from gypsy mouths.
I tell him I am crying because I'm
so old already-- because I realized
that glow sticks only last one night
and the fireworks they're bathed
by die faster than that-- I'm crying
because I learned to pour
out my confessions each midnight
while starting the list for the next
day underneth my tongue-- 
I know I will promise
to stop saying I'm sorry to more
people than I can count-- I'll break
glow sticks and light candles for
each of them because I know I never
will-- if you don't want my apologies 
that's good because they were never for you
-- I am an apology for the nightlight
who has to wait up with me
and the silk still trying to dry 
on the rim of this jar of clay--
I am audacious to apologize 
for everything I have done and all
the things I have not and if 
you can't wipe off the charcoal in
the morning with me then roast
your marshmallows slow and I'll 
be the fire-sugar and always return
to ash-- I always knew that you'd 
break me like glow stick-- remember
I was blue.