CALL ME BELOVED

Think of the fireflies
when you’re ready to
leave this all behind –
maybe all joy has left,
your bones feel buried
already – family, joy in
your wake, mornings
of grief, tears, waiting
for moments to bleed
past into the next, but
think of those fireflies;
you had forgotten them,
galaxies burning, dying
over and over again out
lonely in the tall grass –
you were eight, once,
what did you long for?
Don’t you have it, now?
Did you forget?