The Music of Fireflies
And they grow. Every summer the fireflies glow // Last year’s jar must open and let go // I’m helplessly in love and want time to slow
Your song Catches me in the front row Voices bounce around like fireflies Lighting up a note, now here, now there And right in front of God and everyone Your fireflies squeeze fire from my eyes I want to hide Fake a cough to wipe my cheeks To escape I close my eyes and now we’re alone – The song and I Walking through our memories The magical trip where I first heard you Under the speakers of a tweedy toy store in SoHo “Just browsing – but do you know this band?” And we’re off – Now we’re home readying kids for school Morning sun shadows peanut buttered and jellied hands Your twinkling melody warms the sleepy heads And off they go – And they grow. Every summer the fireflies glow Last year’s jar must open and let go I’m helplessly in love and I want time to slow Soon homework is a rock in their backpacks Weighing them down, making them old And outside at the school’s final spring show It’s you again – Buzzing in, unannounced, through the meadow Salting the spring air with summer’s scent Streaming down my cheeks with the joy of now And I’m hiding again – but why? If music is supposed to make us cry Then feeling is winning And you’ve set me right In the front row Of the fireflies’ show
Thoughts:
I wrote it a few days later, but I felt this poem sitting in the front row while the InterVals acapella group started singing - a dozen diverse faces singing with the kind of honesty reserved for performers who are people first. Their song: Fireflies by Owl City (suggested soundtrack for reading this post. Go ahead, click it. )
Watery memories flashed into my eyes.
Like a Littmus Lozenge, the song's sadness hides inside a twinkling tune. It's been with me over the years since I heard it over an NYC's store's loudspeaker and asked the owner about it. I bought the CD (gimme a break it was 2009) and for a day, I felt like I was the only person who knew of it.
From there it's stuck with me, including the three distinct moments captured in the poem. I guess there is now a fourth. And this, just after I'd heard the famous Brene´ assert on her Netflix special that while we all want to be courageous, no one wants to be vulnerable.
And now I'm in the front row trying to hide my tears. Why?
If we want to avoid feeling, we should just have someone read the lyrics into a microphone while we all take notes. But music is about something more. It's supposed to make us feel. So tell me why, when I'm moved while listening to something that's supposed to move me, should I feel embarrassed about that? And the next time I do, I'll try to recall this poem to cheer me on. Perhaps in another world, all the unmoved stoics around me would be the ones second guessing themselves.
♦ weekendswell ♦
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