Here's the lighter given to me by my neighbor Jack,
Which I borrowed once but never gave back
One night the winter before last,
When I had come downstairs to take out the trash,
And found him out there, as his wont often is, smoking a cig,
And joining, listened to his troubles, all those small and big,
And, quoting the Gita, urged him to find the strength to bear through his strife,
And continue on—with his work, with his marriage, with his life.
And here's the lighter Albo gave me on Jeremy's roof last year,
Which I used to relight a spliff, as we shook free our election night fears,
That lighter whose picture of Britney Spears on its side made me laugh,
That night we spent celebrating on our then-mayor-elect's behalf,
That lighter I never gave back to him,
Though I keep promising I will.
And here's that lighter that Hope and I,
Meeting again, as the rain poured outside,
Used to light our joints with,
As we talked about Jung, religion, the mystics,
And the forever-warming climate.
Perhaps she wanted me to remember her by it.
Because she refused when I offered it back,
Saying that, of spare lighters, she never lacks.
And remember her I do, for certain,
But with more pain than she probably intended then.
And too oft, in an old shirt's breast pocket, I find another,
A lighter given to me by family, a friend, or a lover.
And I thank the Lord up above for all I've had luck in this life to meet,
Who once perhaps gave me a shoulder upon which to lean,
Or who once perhaps, against my own unkind thoughts, helped me defend,
Or, which is greater, gave me the dignity in offering my shoulder to them.
