The Night the Power Went Out

I grabbed your hand when the lights vanished
and laughed as my shoulders shrugged.
Hoping the fireflies in the electric poles
were just being lazy, we all became still.
 
After being patient statues, we resumed life
without technology as our backbone.
As if you were putting a bird into her
nest, you placed my hands back into my
lap, and pulled a flashlight out from
under the dripping sink.
I let the lights dance on the wall,
feeling too old for puppet shows.
 
Everyone but you and I played poker
with pennies, as the candles flickered
shadows on their sly faces.
We shared earbuds in the corner
of the room, whispering like weary pioneers.
Then mom brought cookies and milk,
which would become unpleasant cheese by morning.
 
Just as our eyes learned to seek each other's
in the dark, car headlights poured into the 
window, blinding us to the moment
before we touched.