Page 139

By Jack Joseph Smith

1 Tam the same as the she sometimes, when I look back and see myself naked and stripped of souls Its like I seeviuge candle burning far away, As it burns I take the dripping wax-and place it neatly below the flames The flame must not dies But he wax must be placed to slow its fete flame flickers now and then in a sigh, when a large wind blows, But he candle towers aboue the world and the flame is strong enough to stay alive in mist of the elements; My nights are spent sleeping on the wind, but when it rains I awakes and cup my hands above the flame, so that it will not frizzle aways’ I am protecting something that is not me, but is me, when the fire is no longer burning insides O children of the world losing dreams, your mothers think they see, Will I ever fnowthe reagon why you belong together? O Michael, look, the apple tree, I see that day on the sweeter part of my memory, It lasts forever, for I never let it change its form: I can be delicate, I will touch a leaf, it is sticky on my fingers, and I will taste something bitter to remind me of where I am The ! ery of birds is going empty and distant all around mes Maybe someday they will see a dream, in which I am trudly flying, The moon has crawled beneath ite own, shadows and the sun has kissed the clouds, They are so full, but they will wait anouther day to open their meaning on the lend; which is gone nows Nos some things are still the same, but they too will be covered soonj God, Beverly Road, and Saint Bernards and the Hill, and Beavey and f running a opeakey, Jan Cat Man and : the Lincoln Bums, and mane ne the pimps and the fine black ladies and Danii and the little girl who was jealous because the party girl wore a lock i on her belt, She waited for me two times, when I went aways’ She was so lovely, that I remember Lent as being sweets Father a ati saw me walking with her hand in mines He would smile, until he couldn't stand the beauty, and then turn aways She

Original Scan

Page 139

AI Interpretation

GPT

He imagines himself guarding a candle flame against wind and rain and then drifts through a litany of Hill memories, from the apple tree and Beverly Road to Beaver, Dani, pimps, black ladies, and a lovely girl whose hand he once held through the sweetness of Lent.

The candle reads as a last small interior fire that must be protected after all the earlier burning out. The page turns local names and figures into a private prayer, holding them together so they will not be covered over and lost.

Claude

The page becomes his candle parable: he cups his hands over the flame when it rains, catches the dripping wax to slow it, and protects something that is not me but is me when the fire is no longer burning inside.