Grid

The transformer went with a sound like a gunshot,

and then the house went heavy.

It’s not the dark that gets you first—

it’s the missing lung of the refrigerator

suddenly holding its breath.

I went through the drawer by the sink,

fingering the dead batteries and the twist-ties,

looking for a beam of light to prove

I’m still the one in charge here.

But the only thing left in the kitchen

is the blue pilot light on the stove,

a small, steady eye

watching me fail to find the matches.