When I Say I Don’t Want the Power to Go Out Again I Mean
       Light All the Candles in My Heart at Once

Snow sifts again through the beam of light slanting
from the back porch making the bed a future promise
of pillow and flannel. When I say “beam of light slanting”
I mean your smile across the restaurant in our past life.
When I say “a future promise” I mean all the years
we hold in our hands like a chaos of lilies, a parade
of singular petals. When I say “past life” I mean across
every scavenged landscape, out of burnt ruin
you rise again to find me. When I say “burnt ruin” I don’t mean
the hot casserole I baked in the oven tonight, willing
all the tangled wires to keep humming so we could sit together
in the lamplight and eat, and eat.
Lisa Zimmerman’s poetry and short stories have appeared in Colorado Review,
The Florida Review, Natural Bridge, Poet Lore, Redbook, River Styx,
and other journals.
She has published five poetry collections, most recently
The Light at the Edge of
(Anhinga Press, 2008) and Snack Size: Poems (Mello Press, 2012). Lisa is
an associate professor at the University of Northern Colorado and lives with her
family in Fort Collins.