and knocked out the power at
my house for seven days last June.
I couldn’t make coffee, couldn’t
open the refrigerator, couldn’t flush
the toilet or take a shower.
I couldn’t watch television,
so I had to re-learn to watch
things that weren’t six feet
in front of my couch.
I watched the clouds
debride the sky into
this ugly orange pink mess and
I watched the rhododendrons
bloom their vulgar blooms as
a counterweight to that setting sun.
Obviously, I couldn’t
turn on the computer,
so I couldn’t write about it then.
The closest I came to writing
was when my nieces and I
ran around the yard and smeared
lightning bugs on our T-shirts,
trying to catch enough of them
to spell our names.
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