Forgetting the Flashlight – a poem by Mark Thalman

Forgetting the Flashlight
		

Even after my eyes have adjusted,
it is not always possible 
to pick out the path.

Firs seem more massive.
Blind— feet trip.

Finding the woodpile,
I select a log 
like feeling Braille— 

Pitch, honey thick, sticks
to both hands.

Laying the log on the coals,
flames take hold—
burning the rings,
trips around the sun,
years lost, somewhere
behind us.

Mark Thalman is the author of Stronger Than the Current, The Peasant Dance, and Catching the Limit.  His poems have appeared in the Paterson ReviewThe MacGuffinPedestal Magazine, and Valparaiso Review, among many others. He has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Oregon.  Thalman retired from the public schools after teaching English and Creative Writing for 35 years.  Besides writing, he enjoys painting landscapes and wildlife art. Please visit markthalman.com

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