Sudden Dark

It didn't just fade, or flicker.

It went with a sound,

like a single, dry twig snapping

in a silent room.

Then a flash, quick and blue-white,

that etched the counter's edge

onto my retina for a beat,

before the dark rushed in,

a solid, heavy thing.

The bulb, cool now in my hand,

holds its tiny wreckage:

the filament, a hair-thin wire,

curled like a burnt eyelash,

broken, in the middle of its bright work.

No more hum.

Just the refrigerator

thrumming its lonely song

from the next room over,

unaware of what ceased.