deafbajagal
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- Nov 6, 2007
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Ok, I'm really nervous about posting this poem that I wrote in college. The wording of the poem (my favorite writing style) is intended to reflect the voice of a child - and the persona in a way, is supposed to be an adult reflecting back on a moment in childhood. Here it goes:
Sister,
Remember
that dark sticky night
we caught the fireflies
in Mason jars with rusty lids.
Our hair was wet from sweat
and our hands red from writing with sticks
on the rusted hood of Daddy's old Ford car and black
from the tire swing
that he promised to hang
on the tree where the white fairies bid
their farewells to the moonless sky.
He never kept his promises
just for kicks.
Remember that night
when Momma's screams
finally stopped
and the glass door
shattered.
The red
and the black
and the blue
all came together.
Like a sad oil painting that just sat there
and never dried.
It was that night
we had forgotten
about the fireflies we caught,
and they died.
Sister,
Remember
that dark sticky night
we caught the fireflies
in Mason jars with rusty lids.
Our hair was wet from sweat
and our hands red from writing with sticks
on the rusted hood of Daddy's old Ford car and black
from the tire swing
that he promised to hang
on the tree where the white fairies bid
their farewells to the moonless sky.
He never kept his promises
just for kicks.
Remember that night
when Momma's screams
finally stopped
and the glass door
shattered.
The red
and the black
and the blue
all came together.
Like a sad oil painting that just sat there
and never dried.
It was that night
we had forgotten
about the fireflies we caught,
and they died.
