Dave Harvey
THE LIGHTS COME BACK ON

Part of every North Coast winter:
the signals weren't working in town.
We get home from work—
lights don't turn on—
our clocks all stopped at 12:18

At first it's kind of all right:
            we break out the candles
                        and flashlights
(always leaving some lightswitches on,
            so we'll know
            when PG&E has finished doing its thing).
We cook supper without the microwave
and eat by candlelight,
look out at the darkness
share remarks that become less and less profound
            because we've repeated them every time this happens,
            about modern times
            and olden times, and so on.

 Some time in the evening—usually—
while we are eating, perhaps, or doing the dishes—

the lights come back on.
In a sudden, silent moment
            we come back:
            from primitive times,
                                    and firelight
                                    flickering on the cave wall,
                                    in one breathtaking flash.