Visible Light

You have bought the wrong light bulbs again–

too bright this time. This time you brought

the receipt but first you travel the well-lit aisle

of lighting fixtures. There’s a notice about a ban

on fluorescence which reminds you 

of Ben’s offer for a bioluminescence

paddle in the Salish Sea. You want that–

to glide out into a wash of light, stars and sea

bedazzled. But here in the West Seattle True Value,

you are confused by wattage, the question

of dimming and LED. How many hours 

of light should you expect? The time changed

this week and you hustle home to walk the dog

before nightfall, his vision dimming with age.

In the dark, he runs into lamp posts even as 

they cast a glow and as the neighbors’ televisions pulse

a spectrum of the evening news, the wars brightening

their big screens. You can see into their living

rooms–in a way you never do

during the long summer evenings when you wave

to one another, stop to chat about the weather.

Walking the dog in the gloaming, you feel

an unexpected tenderness for your neighbors, 

a desire to enter their darkened rooms and sit 

beside them watching the televised world.

Maybe you would be silent together.

Or perhaps, someone would turn on a light,

offer a glass of wine. You want that—

to be a reason for light.

-- Heidi Seaborn