The Fourth of July

The Fourth of July

I tried to look forward to yesterday.
It was the Fourth of July.
The day off, the grill, family and or friends,
Kids are older now, live out of state, grandkids growing up too fast.
Family ties, just a cousin left, at 93, she reminisces a lot, talks of hospice,
Friends are out of town, on the other side or overseas.

So I spent the day with yesterday’s news streaming on TV
Anticipating what might come after sunset.
I first heard the bursts in the distance, then saw the delayed puffs of smoke and flashes in the sky,
A different sound from nature’s thunder, or God’s.
It was man-made.
I could hear shouts, directions, children’s screams, the wails of ambulances and firetrucks indiscernible.
The explosions came nearer, for sure now in our neighborhood.
Where am I, in Ukraine, or am I home?

Some whistled overhead. The flares lighting up the sky.
The bursts surrounded my shelter and the homes around us, the sound bouncing off the walls,
They kept coming, ticking off minutes toward midnight while I looked for old glory,
The red, white, and blue, and in a moment of clarity and pride, I saw it waving calmly in the distance,
The rope and clasp clapping on the pole.
Suddenly, the roar of an engine brought me back into the now and I saw blue and yellow
Strapped to the back of a pickup truck as it sped down the desolate street.