by DW Rowlands
2 April 2018 in Catonsville, MD
The open hearth has been replaced
with glowing screens and microwaves.
No hand-hewn logs are burnt today
to warm and light and feed us all.
But though the first-and-last-born one
no longer has her hallowed flames,
Her sacred hearth is not yet quenched.
The voice and face of a dear friend
who lives five thousand miles away.
The warmth of friends now crowded close
about the table set for them;
The smell of cabbage soup and safety
that my partner calls my home:
Her fire lives on in our hearts.