Childhood Vacation

I smell the sweet pines

In  New Hampshire summer time.

Papa says it’s fine to dive in the lake

Between lily pads and sky.

I surface with a smile, out of breath.

It’s time to go home;

But not, until dawn.

 

Dusk fades with chasing lights.

Mason jar and fine mesh net

Captures the last fire fly.

Mama says, “Let them go,

There is no room in the car.”

I left it, with the lid off,

 

Escaping glass echoes

Of our last vacation night.