In my house
I keep a glass lamp
by the front door.
It is in the shape of a tulip,
and inside it,
a light bulb flickers
in the shape of a tear.
I keep it lit all night long—
a small comfort for those who are lost,
for ghosts who believe
they have been forgotten.
My lamp is a memory—
a promise of love
glowing through a teardrop.
It is the pain of loss,
shining and blooming
all night long.
In a dream
I see the Statue of Liberty,
her face covered by her hands.
Does she hide her eyes
in shame
in fear
in sorrow?
Once, she held the light of freedom,
a flaming torch, bright and bold.
Where is it now?
America,
every night my small lamp
glows by the front door.
America,
where is your light of memory?
Without it,
how will your tired, your hungry, your poor—
your ghosts who believe they have been forgotten,
ever find their way home?

Johanna Ely was Benicia’s sixth poet laureate, a term she held from 2016 to 2018.

Sharing is caring!