One Poem by Amy Nocton

Lightning from Summer’s Twilight 

I long for the forgotten fireflies
of years ago, when younger hands snatched
lightning from summer’s

twilight.
Wonder could be cupped
in palms aglow with a beetle’s

bioluminescence.
Our parents spied,
from nearby or through a window.

What dreams
might they have held for us
as we peered

at skin illuminated
by tiny lights? How many times
did they,

like us, revise
the narratives they carried
through life?

Yesterday, I was given
to know that at dusk
our river would hold

innumerable
living stars in the hazy blue
of nightfall.

I intended to see for myself
if this were true. But then dark
descended,

and all I could do was wonder,
how do you mourn,
after hope?

 

Amy Nocton lives in Storrs, Connecticut with her family. She teaches Spanish at E.O. Smith High School and English composition for non-native speakers at UCONN. She has been previously published in Poetry Ireland Review, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Inti: Revista de literatura hispánica and The Bookends Review.

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