by Christine Taylor
Some
nights we sit up
peer at the sky
through the blinds
we don’t know if what we hear
is what we think we hear:
thunder
construction
fireworks
bullets.
I
remind him
today is June 14, Flag Day
certainly a cause for celebration
he sets his beer bottle
on the coffee table
laces fingers under chin
stares.
Two
weeks after the 4th of July
our tabby perches at the living room picture window
waiting again for a kaleidoscope of hot sparks
to glitter the night sky.
She puts her paw to the glass
what looks like longing
but, no, she’s just swatting a moth.
The
night rumbles
heat lightning illumines the road
I swallow panic
that aims to clench my throat.
In the morning I read the news
just to make sure.
Sometimes
I’m wrong.
Christine Taylor, a multiracial English teacher and librarian, resides in her hometown Plainfield, New Jersey. She is the EIC of Kissing Dynamite: A Journal of Poetry and the haibun editor at OPEN: Journal of Arts & Letters. Christine has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and her work appears in Modern Haiku, Glass, Room, and The Rumpus among others. She can be found at www.christinetayloronline.com.