by Kersten Christianson

Preferring the dim
light of late November
afternoons, I light
the candles, work
by flame.

My friend Vivian calls
this bluedark, magic hue.
Against it, I read the day’s
mail, offshore forecast,

It isn’t strong enough
magic to restore
all that has been lost,
but the star shadows

flash mango,
wildfire my periphery
with surprise and something
that feels a bit
like hope.

Kersten Christianson is a raven-watching, moon-gazing Alaskan. She has authored two books of poetry — What Caught Raven’s Eye and Something Yet to Be Named.