Nightly Topic
/Summer nights on the porch,
conversation would begin
with fair-weather hymns
and corn-field benedictions--
no hint of the apocalypse at first.
Then, my uncle would spit,
and it would be time to preach
about my sister.
No letter had arrived with postage
stamp from far-away places--
no foot-prints on the dusty road,
love, coming back.
Coughs, sighs, scraping of chairs
evolved into a murmur
that became as strong as
the whirlwind that took Elijah--
how my sister with painted face
and red high-heels should be
banished forever.
My uncles agreed and said amen,
but before I went to bed
I'd catch a handful of fireflies
as prayers in my window
to light her way home.
By LaVern Spencer McCarthy
Website: https://lavernmccarthy33@hotmail.com