Flicker
Wrote my name
with a sparkler
over and over
It hung
in humid air
Fireflies understand
how light captured in a jar
only lasts so long
Blinking
on and off
the smell
of their extinguished lights
If we don’t last long
why fireflies
or sparklers for that matter
Some seasons the sun never sets
For you the sun never rises
Your aluminum sculptures
diamond coated
reflective sheeting
Dancing road signs
illuminated by passing cars
one then another
I now understand
Your light stopped flickering
That’s what this is about
Today I see the sun rise
and the sun set
morning and evening
pink purple
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Erica Marks is a writer and retired fundraiser living in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her work recently appeared in The Poetry Distillery (a project of The Academy of Intentional Magic), Club Plum, and Sense & Sensibility Haiku. She is currently finalizing What Comes After, a book of poems about life as a new widow, which offers an often-humorous reflection on life and loss. It is anchored by the poem “Inheritance,” which was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
