Lighthouse
by Jacob Butlett
When I was ten, my father bought me a lighthouse:
a decoration thirteen inches high, fiber-optic, dusted
with glitter like moonlit snow, its base featuring a house,
a smiling snowman, a pier overlooking a rowboat on blue
water, topped with pillars of whitecaps. An island where
it’s always Christmastime. My father said he’d found it
at Lowe’s down on Dodge Street, said it had simply reminded
him of me. I saved a spot for it on my bedside table, even though
it was June when he’d gotten it. I didn’t care, grateful for the gift,
which I’ve kept all these years. Now it sits on my bookshelf beside
my bed, collecting dust. Looking back, I remember the sacrifices
my father made to keep the family afloat, those long hours
driving to work through snowstorms & cloudbursts, those long
months lifting lumber & bags of concrete mix, those long
years on his callused palms, bruised shoulders, herniated discs.
There’s nothing I can say to thank him enough for his love.
Tonight, as I dust off this childhood gift, I imagine him & me
standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the pier beside the lighthouse,
watching the waves come to life, crash into the shore, send salty
sprays toward the sky, suddenly bright—the lighthouse beam
spinning around & around & around—& in my reverie, there’s
nothing we have to say, my father & me, no more pain, no more
sacrifices, the lighthouse forever guiding me to the safe harbor
of his devotion, forever reminding me that, no matter
how hard I dream, even love like this can’t last.
Jacob Butlett has two MFAs in Creative Writing (Poetry & Fiction). He is the author of two full-length poetry books: Stars Burning Night's Quiet Rhapsody (Kelsay Books, 2024) and Languish (Kelsay Books, 2026). Recently accepted by Main Street Rag, Jacob’s poetry chapbook, Thunderclaps, is available for pre-orders.
