Elizabeth Alford

Wisps of October

The night we made s’mores
at the dining room table—
toasting marshmallows
on the ends of pretzel sticks
over unscented tea candles,
watching bubbling balls of fire
gradually transform into
charred, crispy, gooey
ghosts of their former selves
which we ate smooshed between
graham crackers and half each
of a Hershey’s chocolate bar—
was the last night I thought
with absolute certainty
that our love
would never melt down,
reach the end of its wick,
and burn out completely.

Elizabeth Alford (Hayward, CA) usually writes poetry on her laptop, but in its absence, will settle for her cell phone. See more of her work @ Facebook.com/ElizabethAlfordPoetry