Fireflies

I miss fireflies. In Ghana there were plenty.

Where I'm from,

fireflies are stars that

rain down from the

sky

they form a procession of light

through the night,

following the thick perfume of

sea salt until they've

found

the pining

the wretched

the lonely hearts,

and they lead them to places of peace

the window sills of secret lovers

to the glow of a coal pot roasting corn

the home we hurriedly left and

did not know how to return to.

But where I am now

the wretched stay retching,

the lonely stay lonely,

and the lost stay lost

because there is no perfume of salt

in the air to pray

the stars to rain down

and the fireflies to come

lead us where

we need to be.