The firefly, unbeknownst to itself, sets a
Beacon of loveliness, of obtuseness
Of graduations not of self, but, of
Others. Caught within a palm of fists

Our firefly cannot move, can only
Signal, as it happens... In my youth,
I trapped fireflies, but I never agreed
To smears of their destruction. Like, a tooth

Yanked from the mouth of a child. Take the tooth,
And the child survives, with trauma. Take the
Light from a firefly, and they die. Truth,
I guess, is impermanence. Go figure, huh?

The firefly fires without its head,
Somehow, this fortitude fills me with dread…

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 4/14/06