Midnight on the roof on the 4th of July | Teen Ink

Midnight on the roof on the 4th of July

August 7, 2022
By lilycranfordnj BRONZE, Cranford, New Jersey
lilycranfordnj BRONZE, Cranford, New Jersey
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I have never been preoccupied with infinity 

and the stars have too long been a subject.


No, I’m not seeing balls of fire 

I’m not seeing celestial corpses 

I’m not seeing possibility 

I’m not seeing promises 

I’m not seeing hope 

I’m not seeing one small step for man

I’m not seeing a frontier, final or otherwise 

I’m not seeing, for that matter, a bull or a goddess.

I’m certainly not seeing you living or laughing or crying. 


I’m rejecting it all. 


I’m not making a wish or 

thinking about God again (I’m sick of it) or 

thinking about how the sun will slam wholly 

into the earth one day or 

imagining how it will be so warm and

so bright 

and how we will burn, how we will bloom

into a dainty bloodred rose instead of 

a not-quite-round planet, 

and how the best part of the deal is that 

there will be nobody left to get sick 

and die slowly.


I’m thinking about sleep, 

I’m thinking about how the fireworks sound

like gunshots this late,

when they are isolated and illicit and I

feel each boom in my bones and 

feel the light stream across my periphery.


I don’t want to think about the gun at the parade (but I am)

I don’t want to think about the hand reaching inside me (but I am)

I don’t want to think about the fleshy time bomb 

In my stomach, the one I’m shaped around, 

the one they’re sure was the primary reason God pulled out that rib, 

but I am, I am, I am. 


Should I be ducking, covering? (I’ve been practicing so long)

Should I be pouring wine down my throat 

in honor of this dawning day?

should I get it consecrated first?

should I let out a guttural scream?

oh that would be grand,

I could be louder than the gunshots, 

I could yell at the stars for not caring,

for sitting up there smugly until I gave in 

and personified them. 

Should I tell them how I really feel? 


Well, stars, you’ve got me talking now,

and here’s the long and short of it: 

 

I’m feeling american and doomed. 

You, quite frankly, wouldn’t understand. 


The author's comments:

I wrote this piece on the Fourth of July and edited it in the days following the holiday. It started as something purely rooted in the moment, in the stars and the roof and the fireworks, and then in revision widened into what it is now. I often struggle to write about “worldly” issues or broader topics, because it often feels out of my scope, but this was a case where those so called worldly issues also felt deeply personal and immediate and so were easily woven into a moment I experienced. 


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