Missouri Magic
Sitting in dirt, on our bottoms
(our rumps, little Lily calls them)
at sunset we wait for Aunt Meg’s
evening primrose to bloom. And they do!
As if spring-loaded they burst open
flinging their scent, bright yellow
(like a smell-bomb, says Lily).
After one night of blossom, Aunt Meg
tells us, the petals will drop off.
“The original one night stand” she says,
a joke which is lost on Lily.
I’ve brought my girl from California
to see family and the simple glories
of the Midwest. She’s fascinated.
Across the lawn we behold fairy lights
winking, rising to the trees.
“Do they like sugar?” Lily asks.
So we fill a jar with blinking bodies.
Add sugar. Make up a song:
Firefly firefly
twinkle twinkle
With these sweets
we sprinkle sprinkle
“Do you hear me?” she asks.
They seem bored. We let them go.
Heat lightning in a cloudless sky—
God is answering the bugs.
Locusts clatter like a freight train.
A whippoorwill calls making the music,
Lily decides, of meteors. The air
so full of sounds, so darkly green,
so muggy with moisture—this night
so thick we can hold in our hands.
For a finale we wave sizzling sparklers
spelling our names against the stars
and then it’s bath time, bedtime.
No rockets. No boom. Just glory.
Fourth of July.
…..
First published in Storyteller Poetry Review. Thank you editor Sharon Waller Knutson
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