there were girls standing all around me in a clearing, there was a huge fire.
it felt like the ending of a film, just before the isle lights flicker on.
they sing a theme-song that haunts me in the moments between
lights-out and first light. a haze is cast over an emptying stadium.
fluttering patterns are really blackened-blue fireflies trampled by sneakers.
i keep on walking. howling at the moon, i feel close to my home tonight…
lying still in the morning before the other girls wake up,
i stair at a sleeping friend, admire her freckled nose.
she remains unaware that, while spending summers
sharing rooms with me most mornings were spent exactly like this…
locked in a fog of confusing boundaries between
my stuffed animals…
Filed under: Past, Poetry, Reality | Leave a Comment
Tags: bed-bug, camp, charred, film, fireflies, friend, girls, Poetry, sexual