The Hum

The motor dies mid-shudder,

leaving a space where the air used to be.

The silence is a physical thing,

heavier than the water in this mug.

I stand in the yellow wash

of the open fridge, my feet cold

on the cracked linoleum.

2:14. The world is just pipes and drafts.

The water tastes like the city,

metallic and cold.

I wait for the click, the kick-start,

for the noise to come back

and tell me where the edges are.