it is january & i shouldn't be looking for fireflies. 

i sleep with 
a jar in my mouth, waiting. 
waiting is a myth. i don't believe
in waiting. no, i am keeping a vigil over 
an uncertain staircase. 
i used to sleep walk 
in high school. not far, just out to 
the back corner of my yard where i would fall down
& sleep again, like a fallen tree limb.
i'm not scared of sleep walking 
because i know, even if i wanted to, 
nothing would stop me.
not a dead bolt. not a locked door. 
i have nightmares all the time
but especially in daylight. 
they knit themselves
overtop of the real.
i knelt down for a half an hour
& picked at the corner of a tree 
trying to get it to unravel. 
i thought i saw the tether. 
sometimes i see my own 
the little fibers around my edges.
when i touch you, i feel them loud.
like hairs growing from palms.
i want to hold one up & ask you
to pull but then you would ask me
what you're pulling. about the fireflies
i think they might be a sustainable alternative to lightbulbs. 
i hate lightbulbs
for their glowing loudness
& with fireflies we might feel 
less compelled to be on fire.
i threw out my matches but i do have a lighter.
the lighter might be useful
for getting the stove started
if it stops working again.
we eat can after can of baked beans.
glossy & thick & sweet. by 'we' i mean myself
& all the fireflies who are sleeping
& waiting for june. i tell they 
june is not guaranteed. we are living 
in an apocalypse. the clothes 
might fold themselves by then.
i'm sick of seasons. they are cruel 
& make it seem like everything is alive
& changing when they're not.
it snows just flurries outside
& i tell the flurries to be fireflies.
i tell them to remember their wings.
the tethers everywhere are swarming.
all those twitching legs. i miss
my sleep walks. i want to wake up
far away from everything.
i want to wake up drowning in the ocean.
kick myself to the surface & find
no land in sight, just a swarm of fireflies
performing above the water.
tomorrow is a knotted finger trying 
to point. tomorrow is the house stirring
itself with a wooden spoon & the mice.
it is january & i should feel reborn.
i should, for at least a sort time,
believe this year could be plastic. 
i take clear tape to press down 
the edges. my friends would be scared for me
if i told them about all their fraying.
i wish i could ask them 
to let me tape them still at night.
i don't catch a single firefly.
the jar is empty. i stay up for weeks looking.
i'm still awake. 
still waiting.