The Hum's Halt, or, Fumbling in the Dark

The overhead light, it just went out.

Not a flicker, not a soft, slow fade.

Just gone. A sudden, thick, black shade.

The fridge hum, too, forgot to shout

Its steady song. The kitchen turned

a hollow space, a swallowing, inky dark.

My breath, a small, startled remark.

For comfort, something I had learned,

I reached, a blind, fumbling quest,

for the counter's edge, where I assumed

it waited. But the air consumed

my certainty. My hand, it pressed

Against nothing. Just the vast unknown.

How quick the world becomes unmade,

when light forgets its role. Afraid?

No. Just disoriented, deeply shown

how little I truly held, alone.