thank you

by Robin Kinzer

It’s drizzling when I step outside.  

A July Sunday in Baltimore,

the night after we say goodbye.

Even as the sky spits steadily

harder, fireflies weave drunkenly.  

They continue to flicker and flash.

Tiny strobe lights in the night sky,

I wonder how strong their wings must be.  

Wonder if you realize you changed my life.

I tilt my face towards the ink blot of stormy sky, 

let rain spill down my cheeks. Let it curl through

my spray of pink hair. I watch the fireflies

weave drunkenly through the rain, seeking

out love even with sodden wings.

They know what they desire.  

As do I.

Robin Kinzer is a queer, disabled poet, memoirist, occasional teacher, and editor. Robin has poems and essays published, or forthcoming, in Cleaver Magazine, Kissing Dynamite Poetry, Blood Orange Review, fifth wheel press, Delicate Friend, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others. She’s a Poetry Editor for the winnow magazine. She loves glitter, Ferris wheels, vintage fashion, sloths, and radical empathy.  She can be found on Twitter at @RobinAKinzer and at www.robinkinzer.com