On July 4th, we celebrate our home. Even when family is fighting, we party. This year we've been asked to ignore that someone came in, stripped the house down to the studs, alienated hungry guests, tossed them out in the heat, then threw lit matches into the nice neighbor’s yard. “But we always celebrate this day,” grandmother cries. She remembers the house when it was beautiful, the tallest, proudest on the block. Anyone could come over and we'd give them food, water, comfort. Grandmother refuses to see the rot. It hurts her too deeply. So we will celebrate for her. But before we begin, we must decide that this is the year we will shore up the structure, exterminate termites and orange fungus, begin to rebuild. Because if we don’t, this whole place is going to come crashing down.
Discussion about this post
No posts
Poet’s parable~
Date’s surreal celebrations*
Painful party truth.
Awesome. Needed to be written.