I stumbled upon an old photo of us
This slow Saturday
breeze in my brain
turned it over
and there I am
on my parent’s roof with you
4th of July
grinning into the crook of your neck
our sleeping daughter beneath our bodies
on that tiny couch
my mom bought her for Christmas
I don’t recall seeing any fireworks until
we stood to climb down the ladder
Flowers of light collapsing
into ghosts
of themselves
that only I remember
I’ve had many independence days since then
each one stuck to the dark overhead
like constellations
I press my ear against
Sobriety Poet 