The Grid's Ghost

The storm was dry and fast, a sudden snap

that took the copper wires down like thread.

I’m fumbling in a drawer for some scrap

of light to prove the kitchen isn't dead.

My neighbor’s house let out a metal roar,

his generator coughing back to life.

But here, the darkness pools upon the floor

and cuts the room as cleanly as a knife.

I look at where the stove clock used to be,

that glowing green that usually keeps the beat.

Now it’s a black rectangle I can’t see,

and I am left with cold tiles on my feet.