Confession of a Luddite by Nancy Eimers
–28-hour power outage, August 2007
It had been raining, and it would rain.
Without the streetlights tending them
trees turned into a forest,
the houses had fallen back,
I found myself coveting old brass keys
to doors that are lost
and the keys to my old typewriter
for like piano keys,
when you pressed them
something pressed back.
Bill beside me, the two of us walked along
in an elder dark
though an oaf-ish light blared
in a couple of houses powered by the roar
of generators draining the dark
as if it were a basement of water.
But dark was a folk art, dark was a primitive
science composing the very wetness
of bark. No government
could have taken over
so quietly. Without newspapers or stars.
Without the sounds of cars or shoes.
For a moment, nothing needed anything.
Every now and then we came upon candles
deep in houses
and throwing a see-through light,
light that had no argument
with the dark.