After the Electricity Stops
Clad in black plastic with gold-
tone accents, you, my late mid-
century AM-FM radio, have three
capsule-size sliding buttons
and two round knobs on top,
as well as a loose coiled wire
for your antenna. I love you,
AM-FM radio, for your modest
size, like a Kleenex box, your easy
volume control, and how I can move
a red bar in a slender window
from low numbers to high.
I’ve set you, AM-FM radio,
on a dresser in a small bedroom
and keep you tuned to classical
music. Your tone is really quite
decent, like when I sing in the shower.
My little AM-FM radio, I turn
you on and off by your vintage
two-prong plug. When I pull
it from the outlet, you have the curious
idiosyncrasy of a moment’s delay
before the electricity stops, i.e.
a fraction of a second in which
the music still plays …
I wonder, AM-FM radio: is this
how dying will be? In eternity,
how long is a fraction of a second?
Will we continue to hear music?
Dear AM-FM radio, this is what I know
for certain: I saw my Grandma Thomassian
in the middle of the night a few days
after she died. She was in her wool
outfit of rose herringbone, the one
she always wore for something special.
Andrea E. Johnson is retired from a long career in public health. She participates now in several writers groups, both poetry and memoir. Her love of the natural world, music, cultural heritage and history makes its way onto the page. She lives on the edge of the Twin Cities in Lake Elmo, Minnesota.
Amethyst Review 