Poetry by Sarah Wetzel

David DeHetre CC



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Elegy with fireflies

For a long time, I haven’t thought
of fireflies, and now that I’ve thought of them
all I think of are fireflies
I hadn’t thought of them since September

ten years ago when Curtis
and I would compete to see how many
we’d find, arguing which fireflies
had set themselves on fire twice

and should those count as one    
He would catch six or seven for me
and place them gently
in a mason jar, fill a medicine cap

with sweet water and then 
a clump of tall grass some cone flowers
for climbing, though Curtis said
fireflies don’t eat unless 

it’s each other. In the dying light
they flickered slow, then quick quick quick
I wanted to keep them alive
through winter, but of course that same week

Curtis shot himself
You understand why I try not to think
of fireflies
How could he do that? And yet

fireflies are magic
They are radiant without 
even wanting it 
Even when I’m not thinking

of them
How do any of us
make it to the next morning
                                                           without 
their bright reminder

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Sarah Wetzel is the author of several full-length poetry collections as well as the chapbook Elegies of Herons, just released from Black Sunflowers Poetry Press. When not shuttling between her geographic loves—Rome and Manhattan—Sarah is a Publisher/Editor at Saturnalia Books and a PhD Candidate in Comparative Literature in the CUNY Graduate Center in New York City.



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