it’s the 4th of july.
goddammit.
well, close enough—
it’s when they do the fireworks in my neighborhood.

little black girls line the sidewalks
on the path to the park.
“the fireworks are in two minutes,”
one girl exclaimed, a modest amount of excitement
—
but a smile bright nonetheless.

“louder!” one of the boys said in competition.

“The. Fireworks. Are. In. Two. Minutes!”, she screamed,
louder, bigger, and happier this time.

and i imagined if the boy had challenged her again,
there’d be no limit to the volume
of her joyous chanting that evening.

and that’s nice. innocence like that.
exploding happiness.

like fireworks in two minutes.

-

but sometimes seeing happiness hurts—
nothing kills innocence quicker than loneliness.

needles don’t seem so sharp.
throwing it all away doesn’t seem so risky.