And then there was the year

when I climbed out the bathroom window and sat alone on the roof 

to watch the fireworks.

There was a cold plastic cup of ice mixed with ginger ale and tequila wedged between my crossed legs,

and the deep purple and grey twilight of the mountains kissing the sky – was still visible – off to the left,

and a plate of cold, salted-just-right salmon sat balanced on my knees.

It was (in truth) a time my heart was heavy.

But the night and the light and the reverberating “booms!!” of the rocket’s red glare…

(and yes, the delicious fish and story-enhancing drink)

Filled me with joy.

Hope must come from these small places. 

Hope must come from the night sky filled with twinkling lights. 

Hope must come from this roof. Alone. 

And realizing that there is still something to hope for.

martha lee phelps

july 4, 2018