Nearly Reaching

The power cut out. My laptop's at three.

The extension cord is half a meter short

of the outlet, so I move the table,

unplug the lamp, move the chair.

The plug barely reaches. Barely holds.

I've been doing this for twenty minutes.

Not frustrated. Just tired.

Just aware that everything is stretched

this thin, that a slip, a surge,

could take the light away.

The plug slides in.

Barely.

I sit with the cord taut across the room

like something holding its breath,

like it might give up any second.

The rain outside. The window rattling.

Everything held at tension—

the fragility of proximity,

the storm, the plug

that barely stays inserted.

I don't move anymore.

I just watch the cord.