The Fixture

There was a small pop this morning,

then nothing but the dark.

The filament gave out in the ceiling,

and I stood there in front of the mirror,

my face half-lit by the window, half-marked

by its absence.

The bulb is black now.

The bathroom smaller,

like the light was holding it open,

like the walls were always closer than I thought.

I should replace it,

but the darkness feels right,

feels more honest than the fixture

with its failed attempt at light.