"My Friends, the Fireflies"

The imagination of a five year old is endless.

Bundled brown hair swings as she sings

Passionately in front of a thousand lightning bugs,

Now stars,

That guide the pathway to her dreams.

A seashell found amidst the dry, cracked dirt

of a Midwestern summer leads to hours spent

searching for pirate treasure.

 

She starts school and reels as her imaginary friends are ripped from her

and replaced with rules and arithmetic.

Imagination is childish.

It is time to grow up.

Her time spent searching for the unknown is replaced

by hours spent indoors

doing her chores

as the forgotten fireflies weep outside her window.

 

Suddenly, a burst, as if a firework on the fourth of July

and poetry catches her now bloodshot eyes

drooping from the burdensome bags they carry.

A place where imagination runs wild and abundantly

and math is merely used to create the wonderful rhythms

and meters.

Poetry, perhaps boring to some,

Releases another’s childhood delight,

and reintroduces her

to her long lost love of the fireflies’ bright flight.