Scripture of the Fireflies

            after Mark Doty

            

The fireflies are trying to teach me
their besotted evening ceremony
pulse blink pulse blink
coy in the tall grass
revealing their instruments 
to the wrens,
to the weeping raspberries.

I am locked in my tantrum
of longing and unbelonging
clutching at constellations
unwilling to accept the imperfect.
My back turned, blindfolded,
two swords in my hands.
I am sweeping mud.

It is time to stop looking away
at the phantom place
neck deep in shadow.

Any small thing can save you – 
the whir of trumpeting crows,
a vine winding its way up,
birds taking flight
struck into a conflation of joy,
clearing your throat while singing
at dawn or twilight,
rendering words from cloud bank
about to break into rain.

It is easy to miss these things.

What is your leap limit?
Have you tested 
the winking shimmer
of season’s change?
Stasis is a lie.

A firefly lands on my belly
floats away.

---

Julia McConnell is a queer poet and a librarian. Her chapbook, Against the Blue, was published by Finishing Line Press in 2016. Her work has appeared in MockingHeart Review, THIS LAND, All Roads Will Lead You Home, Blood and Thunder, and many anthologies. Originally from Oklahoma, Julia lives in Seattle with her Jack Russell Terrier, Molly Marlova Magdalena McConnell.