Thursday, April 18, 2019

Little lights ...


Little lights 

sleep over – at my grand-
mother’s as a tiny child –
She had a green wooden
back porch and rickety
stairs that creaked down
to a yard that to my four-
year-old self was football
sized – hydrangeas – those
snow-ball bushes bursted
blooms big as basketballs –
and that hot summer night
given a mason jar – she
told me about fire-flies.
They sounded magical.
I could not wait – even
before sunset and after
my bath – dressed only
in one of her satin slips
straps sliding – skirt
slippery swirling round
my ankles – I tiptoed
bare-foot down the
stairs and waited –
the jar grew heavy
and heavier – as the
sun still held in the
sky – Not sure when
my eyes closed but
when they opened
it was dark and I
was on my grand-
mother’s lap –
“Look” said she – and
in the navy night the
air flickered -flashed


as though fairies dipped

and danced peeking in
and out of the darkness
I was enchanted. 

Slid from her lap –

mason jar bumped
to the grass – I did
not wish to catch,
only to whirl with,
and I turned in
circles in the dark,
fireflies on fingers
in my hair, I was in-
vincible – blessed –
immortal – mystic
metapmorphasized –
a princess in the
living diamonds –
scattered shimmers
through that night –
I never knew
that one needed
dark to see light
until then ..
on that
firefly
night.
And now
tonight
another
night
dark
and
we
are
the
fire
flies…
now…

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