Doug Norris

The Fourth of July

Mostly it was an excuse to make loud noises. Lobbing water balloons and epic squirt gun battles. And in later years, listening to the Boston Pops from Beacon Hill rooftops or dipping toes in the Charles, feeling the singe of falling ash, singing patriotic songs and drinking Sam Adams. And in between, our neighborhood exploding for days in firecrackers, while bonfires blazed along the bay, staggering orange in jagged cove lengths. And Ramsey, the Portuguese Water Dog, poor thing, scratching at the doorstep, shaking and whimpering, unlocking the screen, pushing the wood door open just enough, slouching toward the basement, tumbling down the cement steps and hiding under a heavy bureau, until America got back to normal. 

sweltering morning
the glint of minnows
in a sunlit creek

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About the Author

Doug Norris teaches English to adult immigrants in Rhode Island. Prior to that, he was an arts journalist for Art New England and Independent Newspapers of Rhode Island, and the news director for Plymouth State University in New Hampshire. He has been previously published in cho, Haibun Today, Frogpond, American Tanka, A Hundred Gourds, and elsewhere.