Blue Bonnet Review

A Literary Journal Featuring Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction by Talented Writers Around the Globe

A literary journal featuring poetry, fiction and nonfiction by writers around the globe. 

Eating Electricity


At age eight I was finally trusted, given
charge of a tradition: and when I plugged in
the overloaded Christmas tree—the sudden pulse/scorch
loop-knocked me back between brightly wrapped presents
and tinsel. Lying beneath green festive limbs
with serpentine current coiling through my system
I glittered in a cold numbing bliss. The stars
had become mine. My eyes were lit
with a wild and blessed brilliance that lifted me
out of my safe little anchored home. From that
favored and favorite holiday moment on I became
seasonally hungry. I learned the rapturous hard way
that kicking a summer spark plug on an idling lawn mower
could thrum muscle and veins with a delicious
roaring jolt. And the ancient junk lamp in the dark
root cellar corner with its exposed broken bulb—
when the fall comes it’s a small savory thing
to plug it in, touch fingers to filaments of tungsten,
fired by the taste of an earthy mast blossoming
with alternatives, all the while seething across
taste buds, with ebony and soot exiting toes.

A beast of light emerging from hibernation, I have become
ravenous for contained lightning, famished
for consumption of the sky-forks of God—and that
ungrounded light switch that fires the spot
on the backyard shed? To get it fixed would be like
doing without dessert, like going without the sweet
that directly follows any feast, the spring honeysuckle craving
infused with the power to linger. I will never
get that divine sizzling switch fixed; my need to check
what might be roaming beneath
the night sky’s shimmer, the possibilities of
frenetic scampers between the connected borders
of the yard’s wire fence—these have become custom,
ritual in the form of a fine table, its iron rod legs
fixed in the earth, set and served by the rotating eye
of the starving brain, the voracious stars,
by belief in the skipping heartbeat
singeing with the delectable power of storm.