Flight of the Confederate Firefly

A firefly secreted in my home died upside down as I gazed from above, spirits of the Charleston 9 resting momentarily in my broken heart. The firefly died as the 9 believing I am pure. Not truth.

Some late night trip ago

 I slipped into my plastic home

  unto a lone firefly dying lying

gravely against the dirty oak floor trapped

on its back in the split between

floor boards and door jams

glowing coldly at me over and over knowing

soulfully every flash of disdain

ends his way

 

 I sat with him against the dirty oak floor

As I should have knowing not

   what is mercy

 here nor whether I am

of Richard or of Saladin marching

a righteous banner granting

me vitality of the right hand, bringing

peril to the left.

 

We prayed with him against the dirty oak floor

 Salem, Doodle and I, three proper

children sat in big church

squirming

 uncomfortable on hard wooden pew

penance for the flight of the firefly

bleating as animals will do lines

from a good book,

  “What fault of you Luciferian to land all askew?”

  “Exorcise your wicked alchemies!”

  “Repent! Repent! Repent!”

The noble firefly squirmed

uncomfortably

 on its winged back, 3 pair of claws signing

futility towards me, emitted a quantum retort to which

I was only singularly privy as if

to say I am prime

You are not.

 Gazing up at me digitally

with his bell curve stare, the eunuch Salem asks,

 “How do I know sign language?”

 “Go ask Yoda. I have no time for emptiness.”

    A moment of silence

“There are dead to bury.”

 

“Do not bury these dead

Lo, under hot blue sky lay the linens

peaceful among the warm red rock and scenting asphodel

Anoint the feet with oils of fishes

but do not rest the eyes

Charon’s purse yet lays empty”

 

We waited with him against the dirty oak floor

     12 of us now

And the firefly doomed to holy

whims and currents from winds of some

one persuasion or another powerless is behind our denials

The b***h Doodle lays splayed wagging her dock and reciting excitedly,

  “Bullets kill people. Words kill people. Color kills people. Flags kill people. F**s kill people.”

  “Get rid of bullets. Get rid of words. Get rid of color. Get rid of flags. Get rid of F**s.”

(Some dogs just won’t hunt!)  

The fateful firefly flashes now slowly, slowly now still, still

   wasting ATP to telegraph me in binary

semaphore of a fashion only a finalized firefly could glow…

 

Await Light. Light.  Await Light. Light. Await Light. Light.

 

Salem sitting upright rests his red ever too long tongue on his flat black face

 grins justly at me as animals

will do knowingly

 translating

 yapping over and over and over all Yodaesque

“Genome glows. Darkness grows. Genome glows. Darkness grows. Genome glows. Darkness grows.”

Eventually he begins to chase his curled tail

I never understand

the first word that God damn dog says.

 

I stayed with him against the dirty oak floor

storied souls taken flight since

tolerating again an asynchronous end

Salem and Doodle attack out back

the unknown whispers

black and white

“I know why the angels sigh”

So do I winks the firefly

  over over slower slower

And thus I begin to cry

When the firefly dies

for the horrors of an epiphany set free -

The flags of our once and future beings

Are sewn now by him and me -

is greater than I can tailor.

Author's Note