My Candle for the Inmates

In church one day, after the services had ended,
I saw her, keeling on the bench
In front of one of the big candles, that they’ll let you light
For five dollars apiece.
She was holding one of the lighters in her hand,
Touching the burning end to a candlewick.
When it was lit, she just watched it,
Her lips moving in silence.

I watched her, too, for a while,
Like she watched the flame.
That’s when I realized I knew her:
Science class, second desk in,
On the third row to the left, by the window.
She was the one who always
Day-dreamed during religion class,
And gave the nuns the same old question,
Every time they asked her to read
From the “Good Book.”
If God forgives sinners, why was Lucifer thrown out of Heaven for his sins?

When I walked over to her, she didn’t look up.
“I thought you weren’t the
Religious type,” I said.
She only nodded.
“So what’s big enough
To make you come here, and light a prayer candle?”
That’s when she turned to me.
It was like she was looking
Straight through me, into my soul.
She only looked for a little while,
But it was enough for me.

“It’s for all the people,
Who will die on death row this year.”
It made no sense to me, not then,
Even though she explained it to me.
At the time, I just thought
She was crazy.
“They are all going to die,
And everyone will be happy.
But that’s wrong.
A person isn’t born being good or bad,
Yet there is no one who seems to know the difference.
And all those prisoners are still people.
And they all deserve someone to be sad
When they are dead,
And think of them when they are gone.
It is a sad thing, if no one misses you when you leave.”

But I left, right then and there,
Leaving her back in the church,
To talk to the air about the wrongs of the world.
I never gave a thought to what she said,
Just put her away, into the back of my mind.
I didn’t talk to her in class,
Or even look at her.
I didn’t want to be infected
By whatever had fooled with her mind.

Now, nine years later,
Lying on my cot, waiting for the guards to come
And take me to get my shot, I know what she meant.
It is a sad thing, when the world is happy
When you are dead,
And when everyone you ever knew,
Will cheer when you aren’t breathing anymore.

I wonder if she
Would have lit a candle for me,
If she hadn’t broken from soaring out a window,
Just a couple years after
Middle school ended.
Sometimes, during the odd little Sunday ceremonies
At the prison, I think I missed her.
I think I wish that I had understood
What she meant, when I spoke to her in the church.

But candles can’t turn back time,
And I won’t even be given that much.