The Socket

Six years old
a rare moment of solitude
a brief window of privacy

I unplug the lamp
sit on the floor, with it in my lap
unscrew the bulb and set it gently on the carpet

I extend my pointing finger
look at it
real
right there in front of me and then
I start it moving
toward the lamp
toward the socket

I know it's unplugged
dead
and unable to hurt me
there's nothing to fear
but I'm afraid anyway
and I love it

I push past the fear
inching, slowly, closer, closer
at last my my finger is floating in space
inside the socket
not touching, just resting in the middle
my eyes close involuntarily
as I push that last half inch
the cold metal connections against the tip of my finger

A charge rushes through me
a charge of exhilaration, panic, ecstasy.

The bulb is returned to the socket
the lamp placed back on the table
plugged back into the wall
and I get ready for bed