Poetry

Lightning Jars at Twilight

Glowing lights around the yard
are chased this way and that. They run
barefoot in the grass and giggle.

Look at them glow!
Grandma! Grandma! I caught one, look!

Her hands cupped gently; she opens them.
The tiny beetle crawls across her palm.
It lights up, goes out, then lights up again.
It crawls on her index finger. She turns
her hand to watch closer before it flies away.

The ritual repeats until the last glow of twilight turns dark
and the final lumination of the firefly fades.

They scamper to bed and crawl under the sheet
each with their jar of lighting held close.

Each of them knowing….

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