A steady light, but I watch it flicker,
hidden then freed from the folds of her skirt:
swaying in her stride the beam is a rhythmic blinking.

Fierce wind has killed our power,
and when she opens the door it flags her skirt
with such spangled zeal that the light in her hand
is smothered in layers of cloth.

I fool myself to think sitting here
is the best way to weather the storm,
she to insist on checking the damage.

	downed tree, a hung
	moment of silence

—Finalist in the KYSO Flash Triple-F Writing Challenge

Bio: Charles Hansmann