Inkwell 2018-2019

Fireflies by Erin Hansbrough Sometimes I think you’re like the fireflies We caught on summer evenings

When we were barely old enough to speak. There was always something wild and strange About holding a living, ethereal glow in our hands. I taught you to flatten your palms, Let the lightning bugs alight on little fingers Before flitting away into the night air. When you flew away too, I held my hands open. I wonder, now, if I should have cupped them closed.

Jolie Rice

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