Tag: 4th

A History of Fireworks by Kari Gunter-Seymour

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A History of Fireworks

It’s July 1st. Whose idea it was to wait
I can’t remember, but me, my son
and two granddaughters, nine and ten,
are at the fireworks warehouse,
along with scads of other pyromaniacs,
sorting out scenarios for night sky panoramas,
shelves heaped to the ceiling with firepower.

I do my best to maneuver the cart. My son
considers tube launchers, skyrockets, mortars.
A particularly hearty woman standing her ground
near the Roman candles cackles,
these flaming swords are the bomb,
it’s my third trip back, my kids love’em.

Flaming swords? I envision “Star Wars”
or “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,”
ER visits, burn salve at best, but when I mention
what I overheard, my son says, Awesome!

I pick up a petite pink sword, offer it
to my sweet baby girls.
The first says, I want that black sword.
The second looks up at the top shelf, stacked
to the hilt with Thor’s hammer look-alikes,
says, I want one of those conk busters.

Night of, dusk closing in,
the sword tip is lit, sparks fly—
a fountain of reds, greens and golds.
My grandgirl lunges and parries, the granddog
darts in/out of spark showers, barks,
oohs and ahhs abound—applause, applause.
Then comes the hammer,
held high and fierce.
For a few magnificent seconds
sparks fly, the dog dances,
then silence and a wee sputtering flame.

We scratch our heads, grumble,
give in to lost cause.
But my warrior girl persists,
Mjölnir aloft, double gripped,
feet planted firm and wide,
shouts her warrior oath—
then all hell breaks loose.

Flames shoot, whistles whine,
colorful spheres escape containment.
We clap and hoot, amazed at the splendor,
each of us sporting bits of confetti and soot,
the expressions on our faces hilarious,
my granddaughter’s the best face of all,
agog in the wonder of her power.

*

Kari Gunter-Seymour is the Poet Laureate of Ohio. Her current poetry collections include Dirt Songs (EastOver Press 2024) Alone in the House of My Heart (Ohio University Swallow Press, 2022), winner of the Legacy Book Award and Best Book Award. She is the executive director and editor of the Women of Appalachia Project’s Women Speak anthology series. Her work has been featured on Verse Daily, World Literature Today, American Book Review, The New York Times and Poem-a-Day.

Two Poems by Max Heinegg

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North Shore on the 4th

              We draw lines and stand behind them.
              That’s why flags are such ugly things.
                            – Fugazi, “Facet Squared”

A shirtless boy drags Old Glory
down the cracked road leading to the quarry
where another drowned a week ago.
Should I tell him a flag should never touch the ground?

I remember teenage me, singing Fugazi
and what irony privilege enjoys. Youth
and ideals rot. I haul my half-century up
to a yard teeming with legal pot and sunflowers,
a seeded pumpkin patch and a wilderness
behind a house whose hold teems with deer
a stone’s throw from a one-floor elementary.

The local working-class elitism ranks How long
have you lived here? None born here could buy here.
America in relief: energetic patriotism, the messiah
of youth in scout uniforms, good neighbors gathered
to belt the hits of what they still call country
in unison. So much easier than trying the harmony.

*

Florida Man

The librarian wants to know why we’re headed,
as does my chiropractor. All three of us Jewish,
I joke, to be reunited with our people. Not the retired
erudite, dining on fried grouper & margaritas,
(too sweet by twice), but the pot-bellied swagger
of white hair, palming Modelo cozies. It’s June
& Pride, mid the madness of DeSantis. The highway
signs are all guns & ammo, vape shops, personal
injury, COVID test results & how evolution ain’t.

We tour a destroyed botanical garden & gators lurk.
We take selfies with a digital Dali, smirking in St. Petersburg.
We sink shin-splinted legs into the tide, then steaming sand,
& sight the ibis hovering on the shore like cursive,
& observe boys skimboard three seconds, psyched.
Near sunset, on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend,
approached by a veteran, tattooed, collarbone down.
Skulls on his sleeves, bloodied Jesus, his shorts read Anti-Hate.
He offers to take a photo before the sun goes down.

*

Max Heinegg is the author of Going There (2023), and Good Harbor (2022), which won the inaugural Paul Nemser Prize; a chapbook, Keepers of the House, is forthcoming in March 2025, all published by Lily Poetry Books. His work has appeared in 32 Poems, The Cortland Review, Thrush, Asheville Poetry Review, and Borderlands, among others. He lives, teaches, and makes records in Medford, MA. Connect with him @ www.maxheinegg.com