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…