a poem a day for a year #153

by Amy Turn Sharp


I sat in the backyard
late dark quiet
just home from a party
my head still spinny
the lightening bugs flying
just like that
ficker flacker glow firefly summer
and I may have been drunk
and I may have been leaning against the green house
thinking broody about the past
but I could not stop tracing the rooms of our first home
with my mind
blueprint memory maps
walking the rooms
stopping by the big picture window
the giant glass lookout to the fields of bioluminescence
like a show that made us gasp every single night
during the mating season of the firefly
my new husband had never seen the glow
growing up in England
it was his first summer
our first summer and
he would point like a child
his mouth open wide
and I gave that to him
I gave it to him 
and no matter what
there are some things you get to give to people
for the very first time 
there are some moments
you just
win