Power Failure
I wake to dark, no sounds
except your breath beside me
in the waterbed, our wayward son
downstairs asleep, the neighbor’s
piranha resting its jaws.
No switch turns on.
Power failure,
I think, rising light as air and gliding
past the door.
Maybe I’ll just forget
to shave, go to work, pretend everything’s
the same. I dial
the power company.
Line busy. Someone
else has made the call.
Outside the snow stays deep, leaves silent
since November.
Beyond the tower,
faster now, I begin to remember:
where did the dance begin?
I didn't mean to leave you all alone
to light the fireplace.
The woodbox is full.
I unplugged the drain.
The carpenter
can fix the roof.
As for the rain,
ask windows. Or
clouds. Or ask
the glass you hold before your face
each morning when you comb your hair.
—Donnell Hunter
Northwest Magazine accepted January 1990
Promises Made in the Dark 1992
Since we had a power failure last night, I remembered this poem I wrote and published as noted. We no longer have a waterbed, nor a wood fireplace, but we still have power outages (the politically correct term nowadays.) And our son downstairs is not so wayward. I don't know what happened to Norm's piranha.
ReplyDeleteI used this poem in one of my English classes with Bro. Bonner a few years back. It's a gem!
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