A Candleworth of Love

There was a magical time when
your mother would carry you
on her hip all day. You were
demanding of her love, small
but large as life, full of life, with your
fairy eyes and curly hair, chin cupped
in your hands. She tickled your palms,
walking round the garden like a teddy bear, each
evening before bathtime. She held
you close when she could not afford a
pound for the electricity meter, a candleworth
of flickering light creeping under
the half-open door. Shadows of the
past still linger beneath your skin.

Kim M. Russell, 29^th June 2026

I know I’ve created one from this poem before, but here’s another golden shovel using lines from a poem by Carol Ann Duffy, one of my favourite poets; The Light Gatherer:

“When you were small, your cupped palms
each held a candleworth under the skin”