4th of july

when i was small 
a teacher asked us to write
about our favorite holidays.
i told her the 4th of july.
i do not remember her reaction.
maybe it was delight, thinking that
all the flag pledges had worked
& that i was a devoted disciple. maybe
she found it strange, knowing me
as the creek stepping child i was.
knowing on a bone-level, no country
could hold me. 
i did not write about the united states
or even fireworks. i wrote about
fireflies & how everyone was home from work
to watch me catch them. a tupperware
with holes in the lid. my cupped palms 
& their brief lights blinking in the hollow
of my hands before i released them
back into the humid night. all around
the fields filling with glimmer. the bugs,
unconcerned with a country. not thinking
of borders. heavy though still with
the weight of fire on every horizon. 
i look to that kernel of wisdom. 
a knowing that a holiday can be undone 
just like a country can. the celebration,
our breath in the dark. our bodies 
somehow here. somehow quiet before a rupture.
these days i do not catch fireflies. instead,
i try to talk to them. i ask, "do you remember me?"
knowing that fireflies only live one summer.
the fireflies flourish. they respond,
"we remember everything."