For the seventeen years of my existence, I’ve counted fireflies like
Lines on my fingers. Waded in the marsh.
Sat below the dogwood, bed of grass, teeth crushing a Cut
of honeysuckle, fingers sticky-pink from the sap
Sat on that bed of grass, I peered out past the thick weeds.
Beyond the bayou, beyond the bridge,
I snuck a glance at it—that white-sand kingdom.
Sand-people with sand-hair, and
Pillars of blood-and-blue stitched flags,
Worshiping nighttime bursts of fae lightning—ruby, beetle-indigo.
There, I waded the stream, fingers blistered green by ivies.
Toes nibbled by the brownback minnow.
When I looked out, past the bridge, past the bayou,
My teeth curled. Wanting.
Peach-palm girls with bleached hair and jaguars,
Sunkissed skin, denim blessings, Daddy’s money.
Golden-haired boys, summer shorts, pin-needle hair.
Whataburger after football games, confetti-blessings at homecoming.
My fingers sticky from marsh-melon sap, yours
Sticky from patty-melts, gooey cheese dripping down your chin,
Coke in one hand, burger in the other.
Kyra Ezikeuzor is a high school senior from Texas. For her poetry, she has been awarded the National American Voices Medal from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. She has been recognized by Princeton University’s Creative Writing Department, published in the America Library of Poetry, and honored with the National Creative Writing Book Award from Hollins University. Inspired by her heritage, and her favorite poets Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie, Chinua Achebe, and Wole Soyinka, Kyra enjoys writing poetry and short stories about nature, culture, and memory. Besides writing, she loves dancing, taking morning walks, and journaling.