The dazzle of fireflies in the sticky Jersey night
the sour tang of mold tickling my nose
in cramped summer beach rentals.
Holding my breath as warm salty waves crash
and knock me over. Sand worming into my suit.
These memories like seeds inside.
Some, I plant and nurture. Some lost
until upturned by mental rummaging.
All of us with seeds, tucked tight—
dark and bitter, or luminous—
secreted inside; too many to share.
And when we’re planted, do they die too?
The prickly new sweaters, the rust-iron of a bitten lip—
where do all these fragments end up?
Seems as wasteful as a field of dandelions
whose seeds loft and float, catch
and land, random to all appearances.
Is there a pattern? Where do memories go?
Catherine McGuire is a Sweet Home, OR writer/artist with a deep concern for our planet’s future, with five decades of published poetry, six poetry chapbooks, a full-length poetry book, Elegy for the 21st Century, a SF novel, Lifeline, and book of short stories, The Dream Hunt and Other Tales. Find her at www.cathymcguire.com
