Hot Moon in July

you always brought the fireworks on the 4th of july.


in big paper bags


like they were groceries


packed in your corvette.


we'd start with the bottle rockets


watch them scream into the air


and pop

hoping the burning ashes wouldn't damage the neighbor's roof.

you lit cigarette after cigarette

until the roof of your mouth burned

and the sun went down.

on the 4th of july,

you always felt like living

so you brought us cracker jacks

and cherry bombs

and gave us sparklers.

we lit those and watched them sizzle

and we'd write our names in the air

and in the sky

because just for a second

it stayed there.

when the night got really black,

you told me to lay on the monkey bars and watch the show

and i did it for years

and the show never changed.

fire and gun powder.

pills

pills

pills

and suicide.

I want to put all of this into the body of a rocket

and launch it out of an empty beer bottle

and watch it screaming towards a hot july moon.

we'd light firecrackers in the driveway

and you always made sure to tell me

"stand back, kate, you don't want to get burned"

i wondered if anyone ever told you that

because you got so close i could see the sparks in your pupils.

it would go out and we'd keep lighting more

until the pavement singed black.

it stained black

you burnt out faster then those fireworks

and you said you wanted the flames to eat your bones

so we watched your ashes

sink to the bottom of the bay.

i don't even buy fireworks anymore

i pay someone to light them for me

and i think it might have rained the last few years

and you can't light anything in the rain.