Closing Up the House
by Taylor Graham
Bathroom light – the one she left on
yesterday – out. Bedroom out.
Kitchen. Burners one two three –
the fourth, that charred the onions
in the pot, she scrubbed her knuckles
raw and still it’s black – off.
Overhead light out. Key in her
hand to deliver to the lady. Speak
the word “key” softly to herself
to bind it in language she still
remembers. Entry light out.
Confirm the inside dark.
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