Poetic Prose

Deciding Whether to Plug In

The breaker blew sometime before dawn—a quiet failure, the house holding its breath. By morning the electrician arrived with a tool belt and calm hands. The breaker, it turned out, hadn’t really blown at all. It came back on the moment he flipped it—the same breaker I had flipped several times before finally calling him.…

A POEM A DAY 211

BECOMING BLUE No one remembers the moment it happened, only that the sea noticed first. The blue starfish had once been the color of sand, pale and unremarkable, shaped like something meant to blend in rather than be seen. It clung to rocks and let tides pass over it without complaint. It learned early that…

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