Mrs. Baker walks to the
doorway of her kitchen
a plastic bag
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.