Power Outage

~Eric Winter Our eyes can’t adjust to this darkness Thick and heavy As a dictionary. We have all suddenly begun to dream, We have all suddenly begun to fill our mouths With excuses, Like a red-knuckled husband Standing over his wife. Thumbs hover above flashlight switches. We are an audience unsure of when to clap, Clouds waiting for weight enough to rain. Outside, branches lay on their sides Like a train wreck. Voices scream as the wind fidgets, Pollen in the air, bags of flour dispersed Like love flowing through two hands. A clock on the wall. But in this room things are different. We don’t dart about like fish, Instead our heads droop like weak flowers And gather as a garden. We desire energy Electrolytes to liven up our lives. If only things were normal, Like a book on a shelf Or a child on a swing. Our eyes won’t adjust to this darkness. We will spend this time sitting in corners, Our fingers raking our hair As we cower beneath hums of wind And needles of starlight.