Dust and Gas

Mrs. Baker walks to the
doorway of her kitchen
and drops
a plastic bag
of groceries.
She watches, a horrified palm
over her gaping mouth.

There’s no explosion, only expansion
everywhere at once.
Like the instant occupation of darkness
when someone throws a light switch.

Small bits of rock fly, accompanied
by loud rumbles and intense heat.

Moments before, her ten year old
son became a sandman to the gas stove,
blowing a handful of dust
into the hiss.
He didn’t put it to sleep,
he brought it to life.


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