Poem: July | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Poem: July 

July

If I were a girl and you were a firefly
and it were summer,
would I find you?

Would I follow you through wet grass
to moss
under the chestnut tree?
Would you let me catch you?

Singing,
would I place you in a jelly jar,
aluminum foil top,
feed you twigs,
broken leaves, and chocolate?
Take you to my room and
whisper until your wings
grew cramped and you lay still,
camouflaged by darkness?

Or would I release you back
to chestnut leaves,
mist rising off the brook, to blue-white
light of seven sisters shimmering?
Alighting on my arm, would you
drink the summer plum of my skin?
Would wings emerge from that
hidden place under shoulders?
Would I forget the warmth of
red knit socks?
Could we live hidden in the
folds of the rotting Norwegian pine?

Or would you hover over
dew-filled columbine and tall grass?
Your deep brown wings the
color of my eyes.
You whispering: What are you?
Me responding: I am awake.

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