catapult magazine

Of the Two Lights Hanging Over the Kitchen Counter

by Joel Jacobson

I sit under the one looking burned out,
dimmed from thirty years of being on
for dinner, homework, games, company, movies
tired of catching electrons, casting nothing
onto my hazelnut-sweetened coffee
and an empty journal page.

The light fuzzes, a buzz of electricity
not quite focused enough
to put the filament aflame
but it breaks my concentration,
a series circuit soldered to things
begging for attention:
        a ravenous yard, winterizing
        the swamp cooler and sprinklers
        washer with seismic lurches
        broken backyard hose spigot
        dripping drips from two winters ago-

And then the light lights and
I am hypnotized-

as if there was a difference between
day and night lights

as if Gatsby actually could reach
the go-get-her-green light across the bay

as if I were some electrician, electron,
a sun to my son. The light

fizzles out, switches me
back to the dim existence
of morning’s shadow,
adding the light to the list of things to fix.