Tunnel of Fireflies By Eryka Renata

Tunnel of Fireflies

I had this


                                    a friend.           a friend

A friend            A friend            A friend. The paper people come out the train when

                                                                        I followed the dark dashes to cut

Here. Instructions. Please be gentle while opening. Caution.

Rogue Schizophrenic Extra-Terrestrial. Handle with care.

He was away. I watered the forest of his room.
The plants were too heavy to carry myself.
I am too heavy to carry myself.
The house swelled in and out my body
Learning how to catch itself again.
Please be gentle while

Opening. The car door into the humid air. Into the summer night. We stepped on

rocks to go somewhere by the train tracks. Red light carving the outline of his

face. Don’t look for the foreshadowing

Here. a Tunnel of Fireflies. A forest around us but

there was no canopy. Little green fires everywhere.

There is all fire and no

my friend spoke an extra terrestrial
language to me on my nineteenth birthday and
i sat in the alphabet of it all and imagine
plants and fire escapes and a canopy
to hide everyone else in the room.
there, i could form biographies inside of my head
based on the false translations of his language
[He       could        be       saying        anything]
Please, be

                                                            Gentle. It’s all stop signs. Red light. Goodnight.

                                                            Like the book. i’ll read you a children’s book.

                                                            Something along the lines of there was a green

                                                            bear in the middle of a dark starry night and the

                                                            fireflies danced around him as he lifted himself

                                                            On to two legs at the edge of the tracks bending both

his knees as if he’s going to—   

By Eryka Renata


Eryka Renata is a poet from the Chicagoland area. Dedicated to craft and the avant-garde, much of her work borders the experimental while maintaining the realism of everyday life. She believes in the complex combination of art and storytelling, wishing to amplify her voice to offer a unique lens in which she sees the world. Renata is also a student of psychology who dreams to spread a long breath of compassion and empathy wherever she goes.

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