Fourth of July and Trans on the Brooklyn Side

Smoke tails of fireworks trail and the little boy
next to me muses on the origin of everything.

He wonders aloud if the fire booms live in the river
they're shot from or in the clouds they light up.

And that, I think, is the best question I've ever heard.
Origin is cumulous. Origin is Hudson River murky.

The boy's father gives everything to god and god
gives back. He says to his son, God is raining

glitter from his palms. He says Jesus is a jellyfish
that flies; he lights up like your new shoes.

And, really, what is faith if not
imaginative? Religion if not vibrant?

This Father, this Son, this Holy Ghost of fire
working through the sky, they compel me.

So when the boy asks me what I am,
I understand the question and answer,

glitter glue, pipe cleaner, red white and blue
rocket pop, a jellyfish under blacklight.

The boy looks into me.
He gives me to God.


- Kayleb Rae Candrilli (from Muzzle Magazine)

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