Fireflies rise, cool sparks
Glow against the black tree silhouettes.
With a glass of Malbec at hand and a phone,
We're off again, sharing visions of the Revolutionary War,
Whether those characters should wear coats of red or blue or green,
Criminals, heroes & villains alike
Standing on the backs of strong women
Wild, Wild East of history, both genuine and fake,
Where, beneath trees older than Genesis,
The First People still told of Thunderbird and the Three Sisters, legends of
Earth Turtle and Beaver, of Brave Muskrat and Trickster Crow.
After a summer supper, calling from the porch,
“How ya Doin’?” she jokes and I laugh at her puns,
Baseball mutters in the background, and
She shares today's vision of a fox, how it paused and
Stared from the green slope of the lawn, down toward the on-again-off again creek.
We discuss fireflies and how,
When we were children,
So much was different;
We mourn a natural world lost, a place with Monarchs and tadpoles.
Sometimes she shares memories:
Our 60's: hers of Baez, Civil Rights, of plays and performances,
Of academia, of camping at Woodstock--her friends had never expected THAT--
And her Mom and baby days, birth stories and death stories, so poignant.
I learned about her research and dreams,
Her quest for recognition a.k.a., The Same Old Writer’s Blues,
Of Revelations at reenactment nighttime campfires, under a country night sky,
Full of stars dancing,
About working for her father, of jumping into the 'Net in the 90's, and of
Friends and treasure troves of history found in virtual space--
As well as how to cook a duck and create a holy Passover supper.
Together we nodded, two gray women, agreeing about
The complex knots that tie families everywhere.
Tonight I watch fireflies rise in hazy twilight,
And once more I’ll miss your rambles through Past and Present,
My Dear Friend,
Your husky voice in my ear, your laughter and sophistication, your wit,
A delight for all too brief a time.