Polishing the Candlesticks

Corseted waists alternate with swelling
breasts, their weight borne on wide-hipped bases.
The twinned silver candlesticks are graceless
but hold a century-old history.
The pair stand voiceless as my own mother
who belatedly surrendered them to me.
Every Friday night Mama and I polished
the hammered metal and made the blessing.
Now I lift each candlestick and caress.
From the mirrored surface Mama’s molten eyes
bid me draw from her well of memory
to sing the burnished words so strong as to kindle
our matriarchs’ blessing.  Shimmer, shimmer,
cherished melody, illumine the kept night.

________

Ellen Sazzman has recently been published in Connecticut River Review, Ekphrastic Review, Paterson Review, Women’s Studies Quarterly, Sow’s Ear, Lilith, Beltway Quarterly, Southward, Miramar, Common Ground, and CALYX, among others.  She won the A3 hospital-themed contest, received an honorable mention in the Ginsberg contest, was shortlisted for the O’Donoghue Prize, and was awarded first place in Poetica’s Rosenberg competition.  She was also a Pushcart Prize nominee by Bloodroot Magazine.  She is a mother, grandmother, and recovering lawyer living in Maryland.