Warning to Firefly-Catchers
By Alexis Casner, 17, Minnesota
moving in the clandestine
hidden in the brush
i trudge along the undergrowth
cloaked in musky dusk
my soles embrace the dampened earth
that chitters underneath me
two mealworms kiss under my toe
their lives untouched by reason
dark water gurgles far below
its eerie face reflecting,
reminiscent of the glow
the fireflies are letting
twigs and leaves begin to dance
following the wind
it whispers far from distant lands
but I cannot bear the din
if i journeyed to the core,
if I clawed until I tore,
if all the warnings I ignored,
i’d meet the bones of those before
this grove holds secrets deep within
of ancient lands
and daring men
i tremble underneath the glen
of all that will and all that’s been
During the summer before my freshman year of high school, I suffered from horrible bouts of nightly insomnia. Instead of taking melatonin or drinking a glass of water, I would slip out the back porch and make my way to a tiny stretch of woods slumbering beside our neighborhood park. I found that a lullaby composed of frog-croaks and chirping cicadas were much more effective than white noise machines. This poem is a reference to those summer nights and how I felt being surrounded by just the trees, the creek, and my thoughts. While not entirely soothing, those nights settled something inside me—despite how frightening everything seems when your only guiding lights are fireflies.
