Fireflies and Memories
When lightning bugs turn on their blinking lights
that signal sweaty, little hands to try
to catch them on the muggy, summer nights,
my memories slip in to make me cry.
I squeeze my eyelids tight to stop
the moisture forming there.
The fireflies take me back to childhood, free
as hummingbirds that sipped pink four o’clocks,
and apple blossoms from the twisted tree
that Mama planted deep beside the rocks.
As whippoorwills called to each other
and June bugs buzzed by the lilacs,
my mama, dad, and all the children sat
on edge of porch to watch the daylight fade.
We laughed and played. What fun it was to chat,
with voices joining evening serenade,
and splash our feet with cold water
from an old enamel pan!
My tears are falling freely now in spurts.
That last reflection is the one that hurts.
© Copyright, Freeda Baker Nichols