Ready For

The outage hit at nine and took the block.

I lit a candle, walked the hallway slow,

and there it was—the socket. Months of stock-

still living here, and I had let it go

unnoticed. Yellowed plastic. Two clean slots.

Nothing had ever been plugged in. I crouched

and held the candle near. The knots

I'd been carrying all week—not touched

by this, but something like it. Ready. Set

for something nobody brought. The power

came back before I stood. The sweat

on my palms from the candle. The hour

already late. I blew the candle out.

The socket: open. Pale. Prepared. Without.