Love is in charge of lightbulbs. Standing in darkness, unscrewing and screwing, licking filaments. I am in charge of seeing. I see the light through half-shut eyes. I see in the half-light. I see the door shut behind him. Love does not wash the dishes. Love remembers how to boil water, how to add oil, how to stir the pot. I am in charge of peeling the explosion from the ceiling, of returning what is missing to what has boiled over, of making a meal out of an abandoned kitchen. There are children who eat here. There are children who wear headlamps to avoid getting bruises. When we all sit on the couch in the light and eat warm pasta we are full.