Dragonflies stuck to my jacket
[a choice showing a lapse
of temperature] in apathetic
fashion. Papa complained of
aching bones as we were burdened
by the air of August. I held fireflies
the way leaves hold rain. Flares of lunar
energy seemed to break through
[though it was only bio luminescence]
to ignite rounds of a chorus in the jar.
Si tragga altrove–legatto then
released. Papa played Donizetti
and I battled twilight.
papa laughed heavily to the sound
of aging lungs, but it was not held in–
sporadic, contrast to the clouds.
We sat on steps, watching
the heat lightning wage a riot. My dress was
second skin–humidity weighs you down,
y’know. I clung to rain droplets as the clouds
burst, adding a layer of moister to Papa’s
lip. He put a hand on my shoulder.
as I released the fireflies–their operatic flight
towards the familiar luminescence brought a chill
to my hands. Welcomed rain in one palm,
wrinkled skin in the other.
(written in Jan 2010)