The power flickered and then just quit

The power flickered and then just quit.

The fridge stopped its low, metallic hum,

and now the house is listening to itself.

I stand on the porch in the dark,

watching the gray slush of the driveway

disappear under a fresh, cold sheet.

It’s a thick, padded kind of quiet.

The flakes hit the neighbor’s dead boxwood

like white static on a broken screen.

There is no wind, just the weight

of the sky coming down in pieces,

smothering the sound of the world

until even my own breath feels too loud.