The light of angels

It was a day when you'd pray 
for the gift of wisdom;
to the hiss of a traveller's kettle
hung high on a hook 
scorched by a turf fire
stacked over blistering bogwood
smoking the kitchen out with the spit of its trapped sap. 

It was a day when you'd light 
a yellow beeswax candle 
burning the half lit hours down to the stump:
recalling incense,the soft swish 
of white Dominican robes and the clink of rosary beads
at their waists as they passed on nightly study patrol.

It was a day when our kitchen 
smelt like a land of milk and honey 
gold with cinnamon baking on buns in the oven
exotic with the tang of lapsang souchong
poured from cups so thin 
that they felt on your lips light as a lover's touch. 

It was a day blessed by the scent 
of an unnamed essence, sweet as oranges
waiting to be picked in Moroccan gardens;
no harm could come to us as the light of angels
shone off the glass in the dresser,
and you held me close on your lap 
snug as the shell on a conker.

This poem feels Christmassy to me - just sharing it as my blog for this week! 
Enjoy!
copyright Patricia-Anne Moore