by Hunter Little
It’s 2019 and the 4th of July
and Henry Hardin Cherry watches me
watch fireworks with Shane and Casey
from the hard flat roof of Cherry Hall
sulfur and southern-sun sweat collide
like sugar into sweet-cream butter, we were
beat
until smooth, add
fire strikes across the sky, mix
until incorporated into my iris streaks
into my night-sweat ridden dreams
that I have into 2023 missing that night
that swirls like the belly ache I got
crawling through the top floor window, ripping
my heart-print pocket denim shorts
as we shook Cherry’s walls
with beer-breath laughter climbing high
like dark-clear, Kentucky-sky fireworks
