Standing at front door in Harriet's shortie nightgown
I watched a soaring firefly mount - and that's the right word -
High above Nancy's house
No, I mean really really high
My solar lights were off
And a light drowse of summer heat
Reminded me of jars of dead fireflies and dried stalks of grass
Ya know, the holes punctured by Dad on top
Then they started coming home. The white truck which flew down the street
The birds were chirping now
I watched way down the street as he backed into his space
I ran into the kitchen to see if more fireflies were in the back yard
by Keystone Screw, nope,
Hours earlier I had looked out my bedroom window to
sheer nothingness. I swear to God, not a single light was on
It was like a mouthful of teeth, all knocked out by Rocky Balboa
I shook my head at the nothingness
What on earth was I to make of that?
- Ruth Z Deming
No comments:
Post a Comment