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Laurie Byro

Candle Lion  

after Richard Brautigan


My porch in candles hosts all the lions who growl

from the other side. My father shoos raccoons


off the stairs. Last summer, he tossed a shovel

of gravel at a hungry bear. He could scare shadow-mice,


make darkness shiver. He pounces through

the candle’s fire as it licks the waxy stars that fall.


We are white light, candle lions who belong

to the same pride. The heat of his breath sears


though he is no longer alive. I have nothing to fear from this

or that side. These candles have ancient amber eyes.




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