How Candles Are Made
By Lupe Mendez
It was hard for me but I still kept hope because I knew that my wife was by herself here.
—Jose Escobar, quoted in “Houston-Area Man Returns Home After Sudden Deportation in 2017,” Houston Public Media, July 2019
A candle is made of paraffin wax,
made of petrol, crude oil debajo
de la tierra,
donde viven los difuntos.
When I say difuntos,
I mean we come from seeds.
A candle is a spine that holds all
our bodies.
Our bodies
are pools of nothing crude.
When we pass on, we’re so full
on deseo, on wanting,
some kind person crosses
our arms for us to help carry
the things we hold on to.
We want dreams
to warm us in this deep sleep.
Our bones are the last
to melt away. A vela
is made of all of us, all of us
bones, a slick dream
in the shape of a cylinder—
a spine that gets lit. We glare,
become light, and sometimes
when you look at a vela’s tongue
on fire, you become lost
in the moment.
You place everything into a flicker.
Time is silent, that’s what a wish is.
A vela is a line lit on the nights when
you are in La Union and she, she is
here in Houston.
You are far from each other,
and your dreams fit into a wick.
It is a slow burn, and sometimes,
even when the body breaks,
the backbone doesn’t.
Light up again.
When rooms are full of shadows
there’s one candle standing,
until there are two.
And in your house, there are
finally four standing together
and that glow is up.
We watch this
in the slender wisp of smoke
building in your home.
We watch your fingers meet.
You are candle skins that spade
a yellow touch—you are
a burn of molten heart—
in a single llama
a candelabra that moves
across every line in the sand,
erasing every border
of a room, every baseboard.
Tonight,
I light a vela for you,
but you shine brighter.
Together you are always.
Stay together.
Source: Poetry (May 2020)