Little girls dancing with sparklers
imitating fireflies in the night
while little boys played with lighters
impersonating men in charged
as they launch colors to the sky.
I recall my own children
playing together not long ago
in our yard.
Memories fly out of me like rockets
shooting to the evening sky.
I look out to the mountains.
This corner of the world
called for me,
allowing a safe place for growth and celebration.
I hear country music playing in the distance,
the earth welcoming the lighted sky art,
and strangers gathering as one
in awed of the show.
I am growing in grace.
It’s been a while,
perhaps several lives,
but I am here in humbleness
dancing to the music of children
running around the lake.
A man sits behind me
snoring softly to the buzzing of mosquitoes,
slapping arms and legs,
joining the smell of bug repellent, smoke, and sweat.
I have made it home.
Not quite what I imagined,
much better than my dreams,
I smile as I touch my new skin
remembering the old one
that never quite fit me.
My sons and daughters not all here,
yet I know they have their own lives,
their own celebrations.
This is now my time
to grow and be a child.
I am the sparkle and the rockets
that shoot light to the moon…
I am my own fourth of July.