Poem: Fireflies

It’s dusk, Pharaoh, my brother’s aging
Siamese and I are in our small, Harlem,
backyard. A few fireflies join us, then
more and soon, like stars, or people
pleading, there are too many to count.
I wonder if Pharaoh sees the fireflies,
he certainly no longer sees the mice.

This article appears in December 2011.