Static Electricity
(Grand Canyon Campground)
Gayle Brandeis

In the dark tent
we run our hands
across the bloat and slide
of the sleeping bag
and watch sparks crackle
blue-yellow-white
beneath our fingers.
The flashes splinter
like lightning
over oily waves,
like arcs that leap
and sizzle across
metal carnival ceilings
with each lurch
of bumper car.
Charged, we pull our hands
back into the mitten-warmth
of the doubled-up sack,
the lengths of our bodies
restless as thumbs
as we roil and collide
inside the nylon,
shocking ourselves
each time we touch
the silver zipper teeth.