The Entering

This evening, ignoring the light switch, not lifting up on it to turn on that white, glass overlord, I baby step through the darkness toward the thin, red lamp on my fiberboard bookshelf, and gently, finger the cool, brass neck beneath the trim shade. I push the little black button in-in truth, it’s more like a stick-and the living room dilates a thawing amber. At the stove light I thumb the smooth and swarthy switch on the hood, and my cubicle kitchen stuffs with a breathless red, except for around the orange oven mitts hanging on the yellow wall, where there is a fiery white. I pull the button in on the plump, sky blue lamp on top of the wooden tray beside the bed, and the bedroom brims with a hard and numbing mint, and I’m certain I have rested here.