It's these things that make you feel alive

It was when the heat lightening turned into something more
and the impromptu grill-out became
trying to run chicken and vegetables back into the house
during a rainstorm.

It was when the power so dramatically cut out,
cut off the song Curtis Mayfield was singing to us
so abruptly that it startled me. Launching me off the couch to
light every Catholic candle I've got.

It was sitting at the table- on chairs that didn't match-
like a make-shift family.
My dad's candelabra providing our evening lighting
And we only paused chewing to tell her how good everything turned out.

It was us, sitting around in the dark, passing a bowl
me laughing at the things Heather said
that no one but me could decipher.

It was hugs goodnight, all around. And me stumbling
slowly blowing out every candle, ignoring all the noises
that an old house is prone to make when you're alone.
Forcing myself to doze on the couch
and try not to hate it too much that you weren't home.

It was 3 am when the power shot back on, lighting up the place
Curtis bellowing out the rest of his song to me,
bolting me off the couch to turn everything off and to
smell the milk that had since gone bad. A depressing waste of
eight dollars.

It was crawling into our bed and covering the pillow with a towel
so my sweat didn't stain the case.
Falling asleep holding the dog, knowing I'd see you soon.