I’ve read that fireflies are becoming endangered.
This pit-in-the-stomach factoid exists in my consciousness
swirling with all the other soundbytes of terror
       in the landscape of life in 2025.
It creates a hard dissonance with my own reality
privileged as it is
       ICE doesn’t knock on my door
       My children whine that they don’t get enough dessert
       I spend a leisurely summer morning
                    writing a poem
I struggle to actively fight the horror
and not be swallowed by it
I work to help my children understand, stand up
and not dim their still-flickering optimistic view of the world
I walk in a soft, wild place
        still undisturbed
I know it will be…
        none of us are safe.
And yet
at dusk when the heat finally dissipates
walking thoughtful circles through my park
all I can see
are the fireflies.