The Fifth of July

All night, disturbed
by the whistle and bang
of leftover fireworks, we
found ourselves unable to sleep.
Beneath the sheets, your toes
traced little circles on the insides of my thighs
as you told me a story about a man
who lived by the sea and the woman
obsessed with him. She collected shells,

you said, and left them at his doorstep.
She washed his feet with saltwater.
When he said to her “go home,
there is no life for you here,”
she beat her chest and wept
because she knew that he was right.

In the morning, there was ash
on the street outside of your apartment.
We rose early, anxious for day,
and both fell silent
with the suddenness of emotion lost.