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After the storm,
everything, for a time, was still.
The street has that newly washed look,
the trees disheveled, wilder
the air, relieved of the portents
of falling, has the color of a sigh.
We have survived a night
of fitful sleep
punctuated by thunder,
watched the flood subside
in the basement,
phoned in a report
with the electric company,
and taken photographs
of the broken power cords
dangling low along the back alley
to show my folks back home.
We have crossed the day,
the northern midwest summer heat
sticking to our skin.
The only thing left to do
was dinner
in a house that still
has no power.
It’s 6:30, you tell me.
We have about two hours
before it gets too dark
to cook and eat and
wash dishes and tidy up,
after which you and I
will sit side by side
by burning candlelight
and pass
the vestiges of the faded light
and the last scraps
of our wakefulness
talking about life
and storms
and battles fought
and bridges crossed.

“Engagement Session by Candlelight” by photographer Talitha A. Tarro


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