She added pine branches to the fire—
the needle oils a series of mini-black cats
and it felt like Fourth of July at Christmas
because it surely didn’t feel Christmasy
the year dad got laid off from the plant.
We didn’t know it was the first wave
of a dying industry saying goodbye
over a decade so we cursed CEOs by name.
A small circle of frozen lawn chairs
around the sunken fire pit, we breathed
the green-scented smoke and warmed pink
cheeks. It was midnight, our backs icing over.
The moon a frozen wheel of cheese
we knew would be inedible when warmed.