Grid Sleep

The refrigerator gave a final, rattling sigh

and the microwave clock stopped blinking its lie

about what time it really was.

The silence in the hall is heavy and thick,

like a wool blanket or a feverish trick

of the inner ear.

I’m sitting on the linoleum by the stove,

watching the blue pilot light, a tiny grove

of flame in the dark.

It’s the only eye left open in the building,

watching me wait for the hum to come back

and start the world again.