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”