Fireflies

when I forget that I remember in my bare feet

when I stumble upon what I just stepped over

when I curiously drift off the path I have been fiercely following

when I pull on the itchy threads of my day until the fabric snags and bunches

when I am at tug-o-war with the parts of myself, I love the most

may I look for the new green in my landscape—-

the fine soft tips of the fir

the blades of dandelions coming back after the mow

the baby ferns

even the new cattails and the thorny blackberries reach from the wetlands that welcome all that bird song

may I blink at the new green until the magic I see flutters inside me

like the fireflies,

the ones I remember in the sticky, humid, bare-middriff summers at my grandmothers house

there with the mysterious clouds, lightning rain, howling of thunder

May I write myself a postcard

from that time as smooth as anything

yet holding the whole wonder of my lifetime in my tiny palms—

Dear emilyjane

  begin again with play

In receiving my postcard

May I tingle again with the joy of being ALIVE