By: Miranda Wojciechowski
We’ve gathered here to celebrate dreams of our own making,
constructed from collaspable lawn chairs and some gunpowder.
Sweet kernels burst against my buttery lips.
We lie down in the grass, hip against hip.
The fuses sparking in the dry parking lot cracks are only a vision
of something more to prove, disprove, or perhaps improve.
The blades leave tiny papercuts on my thigh.
We roll onto our sides, pressing lie against lie.
We used to keep memories in mason jars like fireflies,
hands clasped and lids sealed tightly to imprison the glow.
Leaning in for a kiss, learning your quirks:
We’re just waiting to see fireworks.
But now we’ve let them go, away life ebbs and flows.
More often than not what appeared a star is just a helicopter.
As the lights grow dim against eyelids,
vivid and cherry red remains all we did.
The whir of its propellors splits the night, silent and contrite
For having dared to believe what we read in books and magazines.
How we declared our freedom every night,
yet our two bodies couldn’t quite unite.
We built a nation from scraps of photographs and glances,
and lived there for decades through war, contentment, and recession.
How we stumbled across love on paper slips
and traced bold signatures on skin with lips.
We built monuments, penned histories, washed up on separate shores
After all, forgetting and breaking the laws of our own making.