Jump to content
  • Sign in to follow this  


    Sometimes I think you’re like the fireflies
    My friends and I caught on summer evenings
    When we were barely old enough to speak. 
    There was always something wild and strange 
    About holding a living, ethereal glow in our hands.
    I taught them to flatten their palms,
    Let the lightning bugs alight on little fingers
    Before flitting away into the night air. 
    When you flew away too, I held my hands open.
    I wonder, now, if I should have cupped them closed. 

    Report Submission
    Sign in to follow this  

    User Feedback

    There are no comments to display.