Pull Chain, Speed Two

The conversation ended the way those things do—

not badly enough to feel like an ending.

We both just started looking at our phones.

I couldn't sleep. The ceiling fan

on speed two, the blades not quite fast enough

to blur. I could count them if I wanted.

Every four or five rotations,

the pull chain's brass bead caught

the glass shade and let it go—

a small tick in the dark.

Not loud. Just present.

Just enough.

I lay there and let it keep happening,

which is maybe what I was doing

with the whole evening too.

I don't know.

The chain swung back. Found the glass.

Released.