Coated

In the store, the aisle for cheap junk,

I found them, candles, unscented, white.

Felt the paraffin, slick beneath my thumb,

a cool film, like skin I didn’t know was there.

It reminded me of something old,

something trying to hold its form

but not really living, just keeping.

Like a fruit dipped, made to last,

but the shine is all wrong, artificial.

I feel it sometimes, this coating.

Trying to keep it together,

to hold a shape I thought I wanted.

But the surface is too smooth,

and underneath, I think it’s softer,

maybe starting to crumble.

It’s cold to the touch, this preservation.

When a drip hardened on the side,

it formed an imperfect layer,

a small, brittle scar. I don’t know

what I’m trying to keep, what I’m covering up.