History can be told in sunsets.
Six years old
plastered bangs, green stained knees
hopefully glassy eyes, chapped lips
earning the nickname “double lips”
I wonder if Catie is coming over
a creaky wooden rocking chair
a splinter.
oh the places you’ll go
every day sailboats leave and return
just as my parents do
stubbornly sitting at the kitchen table
“two more bites of peas”
racing to eat them on summer nights
the sinking sun inviting the fireflies to play
I catch the most
they are even more magical up close
magnetized by my jar
I sit on the step with them
Wondering if they are scared in my jar
or scared in the sky
lighting up to be found
or just to be magical
I lick my lips
Open the lid of my jar
and put it on the step
the fireflies move slowly
“see you tomorrow”
A Heavy Flow 