Bleeding Firefly

All fireflies glow as larvae 
as do all children when they are born into this world – 
so bright, you can see through their skin to the roadmaps of their veins 
and to the blood vessels that voyage upon them 
to the Mecca of their hearts.
It is there that dreams are born in the form of prayers 
we label heart-beats… 

She lay still in bed, pretending to be a star,
illuminating the darkness of her room in yellow-green;
her humility not allowing her to realize that, 
in God’s eyes, she was more like a constellation. 
Her nine-year old mind – a big dipper holding centuries worth of visions…

She wanted to play the violin;
remembered riding the 1 train and 
listening to an old Dominican man wearing a 
grey blazer with patches on his elbows play Bach; 
remembered her mother reaching into her purse 
for that last dollar bill she was going to use to play lotto and 
dropping it into the open violin case as she smiled, 
Luz, la musica puede mover montañas mi’ja.
It was the first time Luz had ever seen her mother smile.

From that day on, 
Luz’s bedroom became a concert hall, as she 
played her invisible violin to an audience of stuffed animals:
held the bow with her dandelion, stem-like fingers and 
placed her soft, brown chin on the “chinrest,”
mimicking the old, Dominican man perfectly. 
She even wrote her first piece in hum and entitled it, 
“How to Make the Sun Rise,” thinking about how 
she would play every time her father would make her mother’s smile set. 
Her mother had grown accustomed to wearing shame 
for some time now, as soon would Luz…

He hated his job and had lost the ability to glow 
long ago, as do most adults.
He arrived home to apartment 3C smelling of 
Johnny Walker like most nights, but this night 
would be one Luz would never forget. 
Her mother had not returned from the grocery store. 
Luz was at the crescendo of her latest masterpiece – 
her room electric from her bioluminescence when he 
burst in.
He also wanted to play the violin – 
Grabbed Luz by her neck and ripped off her clothes, 
exposing the smoothness of her upper and 
lower bouts; began to play with 
her fine tuners and 
lick on her tailpiece; 
proceeded to stroke 
his bow on her body,
snapping the four 
strings of her heart. 
She did not make a sound – 

just watched as her luminescence bled onto her white sheets.
The stains spelled out, “help me.”

Her stuffed animals turned away weeping.