June 20, 2025
Eleanor Kedney
A LanternThe sound of children’s laughter in the playground
funnels the cool air and accompanies sadness.
From a nearby park bench, I button my trench coat
and put up the collar. The season’s change, quick
and unexpected—fireflies ended the start and stop
of their light, no longer flashing in late summer’s dark.
They’d magically appear in the yard and synchronize
with others around them. Then the Big Dipper,
without fail above the horizon, bright all year.
The children on the slide, land on their feet, run
with gusto for another turn. My friend’s daughter
took her own life, to the day, five years ago.
In the pictures shared this morning, her daughter
has a big smile. In the one where her left shoulder
angles toward the camera, she looks as if her light
would go on forever. Once, she visited me
with bookmarks—rectangles painted grass green,
gentle gray ones with white meadow flowers,
a bold sun atop a mountain. I chose a blue star
to hold my place when I read and hesitate on an image—
Saturn with rings and moons illuminated—no longer
this world, or savor a word with a pleasing sound.
There are so many.
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