Light in the Window

     My poetry class is finished so now I must post poems without the critiques that helped me polish some of the rough edges.  The following is one of several I hope to write about my maternal grandparents.  It is not just based on a true story, it is a true story.  The spiritual symbolism is so obvious I felt including it in the text would be like whacking the reader with a hammer.

     Light in the Window

When my grandparents married
in 1928,
they lived at the edge of the badlands
of eastern Montana.
Money was scarce
coal was plentiful,
so they traded loads
of coal
for goods in town.

Doors were unlocked
day and night.
There was nothing much
to steal anyway,
and neighbors were welcome
to what little they had.

In winter
locals lit an oil lamp
to place in the window
so anyone lost in the cold
could see the light
and find safety.
Keeping the light
to yourself
could cost a man
his life.

It was a different time
I think
as I lock the doors
and shut off the lights,
but the cold and lost
still wander
and the badlands
are dark as hell.