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Wondering if fireflies are responsible for the existence of time - Brandyce Ingram

There are fireflies here

Spaced like twinkle lights

Stationary truths

Of gods gone dim

And bright again

Here we make time

Spinning moments

Into webs of memory

Stretched beneath lies

Forgotten and told again

Time is only our blood

Marking checkpoints

Along the way

As if the ticks amounted

To anything worth remembering

Blood makes us real

Identities reached and left behind

Pulsing its own name

Like a hungry demon

Starving to exist again

Real as bones

Frozen in earth

Arranged as wheel spokes

The past is a lightless suitor

We believe

And love.


Brandyce Ingram is a writer and jazz-head in Austin, Texas. Her work has appeared in The Esthetic Apostle, The Austin Chronicle, Sand Hills Literary Magazine, OxMag, Cathexis Northwest Press, The Write Launch, and elsewhere. She thinks Jupiter is the loveably drunk (and gassy) uncle of the galaxy and Lisa Simpson should be president.


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