Talking to fireflies

To Kristian and Markos

The strangest thing happened the other day at home. It must have been midmorning. After Brian and l finished watching our favorite tv show, l grabbed the remote control from Brian’s hand and l switched the tv power off. Then, I ran away to the other room. He chased me about.

“Give me that remote control! l want to watch more tv.” He yelled.

“ l won’t. lt’s mine!” l replied.

Lately, l enjoy teasing people. l don’t know why, but it’s just quite funny the way they get grumpy, especially my little brother Brian. l think it has become a habit to bother him. It can lead me into trouble though, but l can’t help it.

“No, it’s mine! Give it back, I’m telling you!”

l mimic every word he says and that makes him so mad.

“Take it! If you can… loser!” l tease.

l let him come closer and lift the remote control up above my head, so he couldn’t reach it. He pushed me and l nearly fell over. l felt the soft keys of the remote as l pressed it tighter. Perhaps, unconsciously, l was trying to grasp some support.

“Josh!” yelled Brian.

“You’re making me fall!” l said.

“Josh?” Brian insisted.

“What?”

“There is a firefly in the house!” he replied emphatically.

“Yeah, right? You’re kidding me aren’t you?”

“No, l saw it!”

l laughed, saying, “And, how do you know it’s a firefly?”

“It lit up. l saw it twice!” said Brian showing his two fingers like rabbit ears.

“Light bugs in the middle of the day? They are nocturnal creatures. l don’t believe you!”

“What do you mean by nocturnal?” enquired Brian.

“Nocturnal, you know…awake at night and asleep during the day. You get it?”

“Ah, yes, l get it!”

l couldn’t see the light. l could only see an insect flying around and hiding now and then behind the objects, or in the shadows.

Brian, who is a pretty smart kid for his age, but no more than me, that’s for sure, didn’t know how to make the firefly light up again.

Suddenly, it occurred to me. If we pressed the power bottom on the remote control, a yellow light shone from it. “It may work.” l thought. So, l did it. And it worked!

l kept pressing the key and the firefly seemed to come out of the water colored landscape picture, from within the dark green shadows of the trees. It came closer and closer as if following the light, or perhaps, answering to a signal.

Out of nowhere, we were communicating with a firefly. That was pretty cool. Brian wanted to keep it as a pet, so, for hours, we played with it, until we lost it somewhere in the house.

One morning, weeks later, my mom was preparing breakfast and Brian was playing on the kitchen floor, when l heard some sort of discussion.

“Don’t step on the firefly!” said Brian.

“What are you talking about?” replied mom.

“Look!”

He showed her something on the floor.

“That is only a bug, love!” she said.

“No, it is not just a bug! Josh knows it is a firefly, don’t you Josh?” –said Brian

shouting at me.

“It doesn’t have its flashlight on” mom joked.

l said from where l was drawing a bird for my new predator’s book “Mom, a body like a sunflower seed and an orange head equals a firefly, duh!”

We don’t know if it was the same firefly from weeks ago, and we don’t know what it was doing in the house again. l figured it wasn’t the same one. Once, somebody told me, that fireflies don’t live very long. But now, it wasn’t just one question «bugging» me at all times. For instance, if it was a different firefly, what was it doing in the house? Why in the middle of the day? Were we really talking to fireflies? Will they be back? l think l will find the remote control again, and we shall see.

B.O.M. Imagen de la red.

Renoir

Slow and silent,
I come back to you
from a desert,
the fear of losing 
your voice in the sand.

You are lying down 
on a blanket.
A  blue dream covers 
your rest,
like a shivering cheek 
under a hat.

A liquid hand 
redeems Narcissus. 



B.O.M

Letter to ANYBODY

Winter of Three thousand one hundred and something.

Dear you,

l wish you could hear my story, but here, life does not come by. lt has been a long time since the last human being left. l am alone in this town.

Outside of this window, some trees have fallen. Coincidence is not part of the woods, they follow a cycle, like we do.

On the other side of the same window, old wooden furniture and houses across the street are full of termites and wildness.

In summer, the green color is oppressive, trees green everything, everywhere. But, if it wasn´t because of cycles, it would be hard to keep up with time and seasons.

Though, l do not go out, I like to see through this big glass eye. Once in a while, I see a cat into the woods. The cat wanders about its feline arch, something between hunger and some little mice scrolling around. And I believe, with my eyes I believe as if I could slide down on the back of the cat.

Time ago, in my head, someone ask me about skyscrapers, the missing cities. I gave more than an answer. «I believe», I said, «there is one in front of your house. Don´t you see the one with a red little light on top? Can you see the clouds and shadows on the glass? I do. If you try carefully you might find yourself climbing up, or following a line of vehicles and people. Life returns to itself, stepping into another you. That is the universe of light.»

I know it sounds like from a novel, or a science fiction theory, but it is not so.

We better close the blinds and say good bye to the cat. Oh, the cat has gone! and l have finished with words.

l hope some day, you, or anyone finds this letter and believe there was human life once on earth.

B.O.M. imagen de la red

And yet the silence

And yet…
We always try to make the words talk
And words play dead sometimes
A possum across the road
Runs from speed
The car freezes
Silence is back
But this time
The little bug is huge
With big popping eyes
And words?
Words haven’t said a thing yet
and yet the Silence.

B.O.M. imagen de pinterest.

Reflections

 

Still remote,

the flame of day

appears to me

behind this dream.

 

l turn my head back,

and further back

l see a man,

sat on the stone of night.

 

There he is, withing,

despite all darkness

wondering who is that,

walking in his shadow,

dying of love,

laughing at death.

 

Laughter is a time,

it does not count

when fear betrays.

 

A sound rains

and the blue is sky.

Clarity is borne before, from

deeper blue and sadness.

 

B.O.M. Image from web.

 

A Trail to You

A drop of day,

into the memory

I see,

the gray Sunday

remains forever,

like pigments from a city

on my fingers,

the nude body

your body.

 

The streets

like an extension of breath,

I breathe

until extinct.

 

Raised

from unseen feet,

the steps are invisible,

after all.

 

But a further sleep

is never a new horizon

just a gray Sunday

a whisper from the garden,

an infant laughter

chasing another

invisible ball.

 

 

B.O.M. Imagen de la red.