I thought I could stay there forever,

Lying on my blanket under the stars,

Though they were masked by explosions of brightly colored light.

I was warm, and exhilarated, and awestruck.

I was a child,

and though I was small,

I could at least fathom this much.

We had sandwiches before they started,

We listened to music and ate watermelon.

I watched older children running around,

And my little brother fight to stay up.

We were worried the noise would scare him,

Like it did the night before,

When we were lying in bed and he cried

Because he thought the noises were gunshots.

I did not know then what my country really was,

Or what its so-called morals stood for.

I knew our family was different,

That we did not eat animals,

or endorse hunting,

or any other type of violence.

But I did not know what violence looked like.

I thought I knew it when I found a deer carcass

on the side of the road,

I thought I knew it when in school we learned about war,

about the horrors racism.

I thought I knew it when I had to leave the room crying

Over a movie about Rwanda.

I did not understand why no one else was upset,

But now I know my little brother was right.

It is not so childish, not so far-fetched

to mistake the sound of fireworks

For gunshots.