LIGHTBULB

glassy and smooth, like a sack of light that hangs lightly from the ceiling, or upside-down defying gravity in the lamp. magically illuminating the night. does the switch pump the light into it? each time i hear the satisfying clickof the switch the moment of expectancy is so quick i don't even notice it—but it is there.

cold and smooth when sleeping, impossibly hot, searing skin, blinding heat and the tight skin that lingers to remind you never, ever to touch a lightbulb that's on. even when its off, you hesitate before touching, testing, expecting the sharp sting.

a boy of 7, still swimming in a world of possibilities and unrealities, sits on the edge of his bed in a room illuminated warmly by one lamp. the bulb within suddenly and silently extinguishes itself, as if putting itself to bed. light from the hall allows the boy to find a flashlight. questioningly he pooints the flashlight at the bulb and turns it on. light like water flows and fills the bulb for a moment. but as the boy suspected it would, it stays! the light works again!