fireworks &/or boys 

please don't tell anyone 
but i have zoo of fireworks to come home to.
some people have husbands & children 
but i favor the volatility 
of sparks & ash. the smell of sulfur
& black powder. i am careful 
when i open the door. my fireworks 
are excitable. one rapid movement
& i might find myself in the midst 
of a show. the brightness 
& the pounding flashes. white hot light.
i close my eyes. i never tell my fireworks
i'm not in the mood. it takes so much effort
to explode & they do mostly 
just for me. you could call me 
a keeper of the fraught & turbulent.
but fireworks are so gentle sometimes.
if i take my shoes off slowly enough
& steady my breath 
they will come up to me 
& nuzzle my body with their colors. 
they will fizzle 
like orange soda. 
a trickling sensation
fills the house. i tell my fireworks 
stories of the first fireworks i watched
from my backyard & from the fairgrounds.
fragments of light palm-treeing 
across a early night sky.
they are eager to know 
why i love them & i weep 
& tell them that it is hard to explain 
why flesh can often love
to be startled. i tell them 
a story of how i used to love boys 
but now i love only fireworks.
fireworks of course
have no gender. 
i used to let boys detonate
in my bed & leave me covered in ash.
house smelling of sulfur. i used to
let them borrow my body.
their footprints pulsed neon. their teeth 
like stairs towards 
a new fresh eruption. but no 
now i have the fireworks.
all gathered in a vase by the door.
quiet careful fireworks. singed hair 
on my head. the back of my hands.
hair all over my body
just like light sprouts
from the bodies of fireworks.
i say "alright go ahead & give me
a show." let the raptures take hold.
a spattering of flicker & fold.
shadows brief & heavy
in the wake of each flash. 
the memory of
a boy's shadow 
stuck to my wall.