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“I can hear the moths crackling and burning on the bulb, I see myself as one of them, flitting around this porch light. I can imagine me bewitched by the wink and sparkle, but I couldn't imagine myself taking up camp here, forever. I am suddenly abundantly aware that this is not even summer yet. This is just a porch with a jerrybuilt swing and creaky planked floors, a frayed recliner, and splays of gray hairs just (now) taking root. I remember that first summer when we strung sprinklers like toy lanterns...” — Heather Angelika Dooley
I can hear the moths crackling and burning on the bulb,
I see myself as one of them, flitting around this porch light.
I can imagine me bewitched by the wink and sparkle,
but I couldn't imagine myself taking up camp here, forever.
I am suddenly abundantly aware that this is not even summer yet.
This is just a porch with a jerrybuilt swing and creaky planked floors,
a frayed recliner, and splays of gray hairs just (now) taking root.
I remember that first summer when we strung sprinklers like toy lanterns...