June 21, 2016

the fireflies, returning

The headlines have made an upheaval of our certainty, each day
another shadowy jab, another needle piercing soft, familiar skin. And even though
the blood dries, what remains is a fear throbbing visibly at the veins. We stop imagining
there is good news around the corner, pull cards, instead, from a dusty pack of memories,
gaze longingly at the images. Oh, to be back at that moment summer first began
to flirt, and the lines for ice cream tripled overnight, and beads of sweat
gathered in a tidy pool at our throats, and the sky winked, letting us all in
on its secrets, and time sprawled out like a cat with its belly to the clouds.
Yet even as we grieve and our innocence is lost to yearning,
a silent dusk descends. And out of nowhere the fireflies, returning.