The suburban house in Camillus, New York.
I was eleven, maybe twelve. I had
my own bedroom for the first time ever.

The twins had moved down to the space
that had been my father’s office.
I inherited their old room, with windows

facing east and south. One night
that first week, something, not a sound,
woke me, pulled me from bed.

I stood looking out over the neighbors’
roofs. I watched the sky turn red
then green, the red again. I watched

Waves of shimmering color transform
the suburban sameness into something
rare and beautiful. I watched until

the lights stopped. I went back to bed,
to sleep. I never told anyone.
I was afraid I’d break the magic.