At ten I caught fireflies
in the Chicago night
cupping them in my hands
giving them to you
where we watched them
twinkle away
above us
indistinguishable from the stars.

The next day you took me
to see the butterflies
land
to drink the Flower's Ambrosia-
their wings gently swaying.

My hamster got to know you on sight
and squealed when you snuck into my room;
you would feed him sunflower seeds;
he took them staring
lovingly at you.

That summer
on your grandparents farm
you showed me how to position a horseshoe
for each nail driven;
where each day we rode the fences
counting the cows
to be sure
no one was missing.

We were a little family then
boy and girl
mare and stallion
clopping along
by the little brook
coming back
each day
sitting supper.

One day your
grandfather whispered to me
'Did you kiss her yet? '
I stammered and didn't answer
and he said
'Well what are you waiting for?
I know my granddaughter
just like her grandmother
she'd like a little kiss.'

Down state Illinois had fireflies too
and I punched holes in the top of a peanut butter jar
with 25 fireflies inside
who illuminated that first kiss-
yours and mine;
when the jar lid came open
the fireflies flew
some landing in your hair
twinkling and blinking.

I took them out one by one
setting them free
my face close to your face
and I kissed you again
pressing close
an
Eternal Memory

Now
and
Then.