I remember those dog-days of my childhood summers back east, when we languished in front of the TV all day long, trying to escape the heat and the humidity.  A spark of energy would finally ignite when the sun sank low and the neighborhood kids and I would crash out onto the street, eager to play.  I imagine catching fireflies is something kids have done since the beginning of time.

Fireflies Escape: A memory

Summer’s red-hot afternoon
Melts into a dark night
Firefly light
Invites open screen doors,
Porch swings on a creaking floor.

We chase the lights
Carefully catching,
Fragile wings resting
Within our cupped hands.  
White styrofoam cups

Hold the bright flashes of light,
Fireflies try to take flight,
Flash their bright yellow protests.
We generously punch holes
In the covers of cups

That hold our summer treasures.
Discovering in the morning,
Survival is a compelling thing.
Uneven holes, chewed through
As if with tiny swords.