Chinese lanterns and symphonies

Around me the mountains are like a bowl,
That part feels like home
In the morning the sun shines in my kitchen window
And I hear the traffic outside but it has become a sort of music
The cars going by, the honk of horns, together with the dancing green leaves
On my balcony plants and the tree outside the window.
The hum of my fan joins the symphony, and early in the morning
The neighbor’s truck radio and the sound of birds
They make it a sort of music, they do.

The other night I stayed up late trying to fashion a Chinese lantern
Out of wire hangers and pink tissue paper
It is a misshapen mass, a joke of craftsmanship, a laughing matter
When I lit a candle, though, it was harder to see the imperfections
And easier to feel the beauty of the soft light glow.
A little bit like my life, I think.
I’m trying to find work and there’s none to be had
I learned how to can this summer and I’m learning how to be married
And struggling to feel like I’m worth something

I wonder if I’d kept on the track I’d been going on,
If I’d have been like a blazing fire, hot and white, that burned itself out
Instead I’m like the Chinese lantern, a soft and steady glow
Casting light and casting shadows, filling the room with warmth
Not burning out, just being.
Not amazing the world with my scintillating light
But lighting the way in the darkness, with the wafting aroma of vanilla candles
And the way the gentle light hides the dirt on the carpet and the marks on the walls

Sometimes you might think that putting a candle under the covers,
That it will hide it and extinguish it
But the paper takes a naked flame, cold and sharp
And turns it into a giant pink ball of soft light
That illuminates everything
And somehow in my bowl of mountains
Instead of fighting against the cacophony of the world
I am joining the symphony right outside my window