Midsummer Dance

a farewell poem to the Midwest

Fireflies have always been a thing of magic for this island-born girl. Growing up, I only ever read about them in novels. Or saw them on American tv. Although I visited the United States throughout my childhood, I (as most tourists tend to do) typically went to the cities. It’s been in my adulthood, after immigrating and living here full time, that I’ve experienced the beauty of the true American landscape—and with it silly, but wonderful, things such as are fireflies.

My family and I spent our last days as Ohio residents this past week. That state, which we never would’ve imagined we’d live in, made us so happy. I tell my husband often that in many ways I feel like what we got to experience in the Midwest was quintessential American living. Fields of corn that go on forever, land that spreads flat and wide as far as the eye can see, farm after farm after farm, foliage-filled autumns, brutal winters, soothing springs, and sizzling summers.

There’s something unique, and at times almost magical, about it that I can’t quite name. This poem is an attempt at naming some of the feelings that well up as we close this chapter and make our way to the PNW this summer.

And all I can say is: thank you, Ohio, for being lovely.

Video taken on our way home from saying goodbye to friends. Watch closely and you’ll see fireflies light up the field.

Midsummer Dance 

Who needs the city? 
When you can drive deep into the Ohio countryside 
at twilight and watch fireflies rise skyward 
one by one, slowly pirouetting to their midsummer dance. 
Flickering to the beat of an unsung chorus 
only they know. 

Sure, you get bright lights in the city—
skyscrapers and fluorescent signs
and every screen awake, awake, awake.

But what about magic?
What about mystery? 

Of how the tiniest bug can turn
on and off and on and off and on and off.
How it can make us sit with darkness 
just long enough to interrupt it. 

Who needs the city?
When cornfields light up like stadiums
and there is green and growth
spreading in our sleep. 
When there are sacred things happening 
in the quiet buzz of a summer evening. 

   - r.e.n 

In light of eternity,

Rosa.

P.S. I felt like I was channeling my inner Wendell Berry for this poem. Thoughts? I’d love to hear from my fellow Midwest poetry pals, I know there’s a few of us! Also, our collab poem on backyard therapy is coming up next. Hopefully sometime this week! There’s still time to drop a line in response to the prompt, which you can find in my previously shared Notes. Oh, and a title announcement for my upcoming collection with The Way Back Books is coming soon, too!!