Fireworks

My mother runs her finger across the side of her head,
Gracefully placing her hair behind one ear.
“We are going to be okay now” She tells me.
“We will be safe now” She tells me. I believe her.
Only six years old I do not understand why we cannot go out and see the fireworks,
But they come every night.
Not once since we’ve moved here have we seen the fireworks,
But imagine they resemble the disney ones on television.
My mother cries when the fireworks come,
And she comes into my room to hold me.
She doesn’t hug me like this on the 4th of July.
I think to myself, if we only went out to see them- just once,
Mother wouldn’t be so scared.
I am so lucky.
Most kids get a bedtime story,
I get a concerto.
Bang! Bang! The rushing into my room.
Bang! Bang! The hugs, and the holding.
The fireworks sound as if they were composed just for me.
My mother says they are for her.
I wish my room had a window, so that I could see them.
I wish to sneak a peek,
Go out and show mother that fireworks are not to be feared.
Yeah, they were scary at first.
But now the sound of them resonates just as a steady drum.
Mother is always apologizing – Although she has done nothing wrong.
She says we will soon move somewhere.
Wherever we go,
I hope there are fireworks.

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3 thoughts on “Fireworks

  1. Pingback: Zander Foster Poetry | Stars and Stripes Writing Site

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