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Firework
My throat clenched in on itself
like a snake—
and my whole body shook shook
I bit my lip, hugged the thin blanket
to my warm-blooded body,
and I
could (I tried.)
not
look away. (I tried.)
The people around me, the silent
shapes in the night,
they sat, placid and smooth
the red spread out into the black sky,
and into my bones,
my cheeks rattled
like hollow green cans, like—
the empty multi-colored light
illuminated our tired faces,
awash with patriotism and regret
sorrow for our coal-dust deeds
and what we thought were golden ones—
I wanted so badly for it
to be the Old
Fourth
Of July, (Red white blue)
but look at you, look at all of us
and feel the fireworks (we
in your fingers. cannot
We are all tightly coiled snakes
with red explosions look
in our bones. away.)
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This poem is both about the Fourth of July, the feelings fireworks give you, and my newfound complicated way of looking at patriotism. Fireworks can be terrifying. So can the current United States.