Midsummer’s Night Nostalgia
I remember once;
The softness of the grass,
the whistling of the chivalrous wind,
waltzing with Mom’s hair.
The light shining against the warmth
of her eyes,
the ochre shade of a fresh pot of coffee,
inviting me over.
Like the great wings of eagles,
her arms swoop swiftly around me.
Eyes glued to the sky,
we sit huddled upon the
Earth’s silken blanket,
silently waiting for the
thunder of Prometheus’s
fire that sets the sky ablaze
every Fourth of July.
Boom boom!
Go the launchers,
far off in the distance where
not a soul can hear the
Boom boom!
of the blooming effervescence
that struggles to erupt
from my chest.
Pop pop pop.
Go the golden drops of
celestial rain that dive
gracefully
from the sky
like the first rays of epiphany
and enlightenment.
Pop pop pop.
Go my eyes,
wide and round as a baby owl’s,
ready to take its first flight.
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Badum badum.
Go the luminous explosions,
harmonizing with the beat of
the soldiers of freedom
and their rhythmic drums,
marching through the immaturity of my mind
liberating each thought,
each dream,
that lays entangled within.
Crackle crackle.
Go the swirls of light that
gloss over my small,
ever-brightening body.
The euphonious symphony of sounds
serenades me,
as I break free from Mom’s
suddenly suffocating embrace.
Then silence.
My tongue still tingling with the stimulating flavor
of the extraordinary
dark ocean of the night sky that
Boom boom’s
and pop pop pop’s,
breathing its dulcet drops of
freedom and maturity,
penetrating the deepest
parts of me.
I remember once;
childhood.
Ephemeral as the bursting flames
Of a firework,
sinking into the vast
canvas of the ocean’s
stygian waters.
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