Vigilance

Written after a candlelight vigil held for the victims of the Virginia Tech shooting

This is no prophecy.
It bears no golden seal
that can be broken to reveal
a piece of wisdom hidden
deep in the tainted pools.
Is that blood? The wax
at the base of this taper
is solid sticky smooth
between my fingers, but
the top is already melting.
A stream of milky white
is flowing down the side
between the cracks of the stiff
paper collar meant to hold
it back, and suddenly
the tip of my finger is burning,
hot wax searing straight through
the nail. I welcome the unexpected
pain, a reminder of where I am.
I look away from the flicker
of my candle to see how it fits
into the choreography of these
hundreds slowly swaying to
the breath of silent mourners.
The wax of these candles is too
soft to be shattered, but the moment
itself is more brittle; the air
is growing thicker tighter tenser
and finally rends as the bell tolls:
Thirty-three times, I am told,
but I stop counting after five
or six. The gravity of the death
knell rings the message: the time
of terror is not near, but now. I
let go of the candle, but the wax
still coats my fingertips.