I Know What I’m Running from, but Not What I Seek

by Leonora Simonovis

Tonight, J holds my hand.
A sparkle of fireflies hovers
around us.

For a moment,
I believe
magic exists.

She’s always seen
what I am, how I crave
to run, swim, fly.

I must not be leashed
or deprived of wild,
I whisper.

Her fingers trace
soft circles around my palm,

slowing this lone firefly,
erratic in flight, sputtering light.