The first thing I knew about you
was that you were dying.
The cancer preceded you
and I wonder if you were jealous of the way
it swelled and took up so much space,
how it announced itself so loudly,
how it made itself so at home.
On your last Independence Day,
it is one of the final times
you are able to get out of your chair.
We set you up in the driveway
while the neighborhood kids shoot off fireworks
a little too close and you laugh
at the way I jump, startled every time
a crackling burst fills the sky,
even though I see it coming.
July of That Year
Abby Bland (she/her) lives and writes in Kansas City. Her work has appeared in Ghost City Review, What Are Birds? and elsewhere. Her chapbook The Odds Against a Starry Cosmos was published in November 2020 with Perennial Press. You can follow her on Instagram and Twitter @applestoabby.