On a hot, summer night in mid-July,
sun sinks below horizon of a pink and orange-lit sky,
and I run, catching fireflies.
Bright yellow dots blink and blink
against the darkening,
I like to see how many fit in my hand
without squishing them,
Street lights tell me,”Go home! Go home!”
I run to catch some more, and then,
just before my mother calls, I open the lid to my jar,
As they come out, I say “Good-bye!”
to each and every one.
cfblack 6-26-2021
Doctor Grandma 
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