On being wired differently

“Our home will be the only super-wired
house on our block!”
you grin at me amid a mess of wires
that fall two stories from our new master bedroom,
branching out like octopus arms to a spot
below the basement stairs.

I think you’ve gone mad.

It’s nearly midnight as I hold a flashlight
up for you to find the missing link.
We haven’t eaten, but you’re being fed
by some crazy kind of adrenaline—
and I, by the passion in your eyes,
as you realize your brilliant scheme
plotted back in March when this house
was just concrete and mud.

It’s nearly one a.m. now;
we flutter about the house
like moths in the moonlight;
You, humming as you wire us for life,
and I, listening to the crickets,
content in the darkness,
in this space that will be our jungle;

In this place you and I have marked
and called home.

Wired by Heather Grace Stewart

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