“The Lamp” - Mary Oliver
“You light the lamp because
You are alone in your small house
And the wicks sputtering gold
Are like two visitors with stories…
… But of course the darkness keeps
Its appointment. Each evening,
An inscrutable presence, it has the final word
Outside every door.”
- Mary Oliver
On allowing darkness its appointed hour
Last night was my first night home alone with Little Man (husband back later this morning).
I never really got over my childhood night terrors. Even grown, I would sit rigid in bed, flashlight on, pure adrenaline in my veins.
But last night I was tired after a day well lived; Little Man was sleeping, and the echo of his sound machine soothed me, too, accustomed as I am to it. My home was warm. I got to listen by the door as 4 (!) nests of baby birds settled down on our porch.
When I first discovered this poem I heard compassion for my fear: the lighting of the lamps, the hope that the “grainy and luminous blue” of the “air outside” would “never change.” I heard the speaker name the origin: darkness’s “inscrutable presence” and finality.
But last night I heard instead a light reprimand. As the speaker points out, there is no avoiding darkness – “it has the final word at every door.” And the attempt to do so merely extends its reach. Indoor lamps make the outside darker sooner– in this case, interrupting the “twilight out over the sand...” Cowering indoors limits the last glorious activities of the day – the flurry of activity implied by the small birds not yet asleep.
In this light (light!), I notice more clearly the term “appointment.” Darkness isn’t interruptive, like the lamps. It’s scheduled. And though darkness may have the “final word” of one day, dawn breaks with equal steadfastness each morning. “Inscrutable” remains an acknowledgment of fear’s origin, but now seems to me a reminder of the OPEN question of darkness’ nature, of the curiosity that’s possible when confronting it.
When I got to bed I couldn’t quite turn off the light and face complete darkness for myself ( closet lights!) But, thanks to this, I did dial down the terror. Something in me relaxed enough to face the night.