POETRY

Blackout

I was raised in the dark,
so I feared the unknown,
biting winters,
blazing summers,
and their inevitable ends:
dark, endlessly dark,
a suffocating black expansion.

I was raised in the dark,
I knew how long a candle burned,
how long before ice would melt,
I memorized the path by feel,
the numbers by heart.

In my sleep
I could sense the flickering light,
and like an old mattress spring,
shoot out of bed
with a thumping heart and shaky hands,
a tiny blackout detector.

I was raised in the dark,