here, 26, and by the sea
where my body finds
the first rest it has
ever known

i close my eyes
i go back in time
i travel into the mountains to
find her

myself, a small child,
braided hair and shellshocked

i ask her if she wants to
catch fireflies in a mason jar,
she does so with splendor.

i ask her if she has ever seen the ocean
i ask her if she wants to come with me
i ask her, softly, if she wants to leave

we drive to the coast
she picks the music
she delights in the journey

i arrive and save her
just in time,
that she may never know
the taste of blood.

on her lap, her jar of fireflies,
a little light to
guide us home.