renaître; être éphémère
we were all young once, netting our fingers to
catch stray stars, pennies tumbling down a well.
was it real? or was it a dream, a kaleidoscope of memories
that escape my mind, that keep me up at night:
pinpoints of light against the pads of my
fluttering fingers, a phosphorescent hum,
static and secondary colors.
i was baptized in the aisle of a 7-eleven,
a paper girl haloed in shards of glass
holding my head in her lap as i cradled
fireflies between wandering fingers.
born again in the glory of the taste
of iron on my tongue and the ringing in my
ears, i was crowned queen of fluorescent lights
and waltzed away the washed sepia on the backs
of my eyelids until all that remained was technicolor
and the rainbows cast across the wall,
light reflecting off an angel’s broken halo.
i ache for those days when i felt nothing,
where i could twirl under gas station lights and
cup fireflies in my palm without fearing they would fly away.
now i close my fingertips around a hundred tiny wings and
a hundred tiny dandelion seeds, afraid to waste wishes on
a past life, a past youth where i still did not know
the difference between a sonnet and a soliloquy, where
my butterfly wrists still did not know the path into ether,
where my tired tread still did not know the way home.