Sparks

I caught the firefly one moonless night,

as we ran barefoot through the fresh-mowed grass,

when all the stars above seemed extra bright.

My mother trapped it for me in a glass;

the lid so tight it couldn't breathe, I feared.

(She said that flies don't need to draw much air.)

While I dawdled through my night's routine, she steered

me toward the bed, the jar upon a chair.

That whole dark night, I lay in breathless wait

to catch my lightning bug mid-spark. I fell

asleep before I saw the light. But fate

did intervene and when the morning bell

did ring, I saw what I'd been waiting for -

that tiny flash that set my heart to soar.