Fireflies outside the garage

Winner of Nassau Reviews writer award for poetry

We saw the most fireflies

outside Dave’s garage

popping on and off like turn signals

over the bent yellow grass.

I knew her in person

for seven days.

Now she writes me letters

about Steinbeck

and about her

dead parents.

If I don’t move

my car for a few days

soot from the mill

piles on it

enough to write

initials in it

with my finger,

enough to poke little circles

in it

of a lighter color,

enough to dig shapes

in it like a sexton’s trowel,

enough to puncture

the dark like tiny lights.

Queen Anne’s Lace

on the stem of night.