Poetry
Fremont
by Steven Rossi
You are 9 years old and the world is bright. The lights are everywhere, cascading across block after block of the Vegas strip. The night is brighter than the day, the neon swirling across the buildings. The lights are flashing, glowing, radiating, and swirling. You’re a winner just by being here.
You are 9 years old and this is the most beautiful scene you’ve ever been a part of. People are all around you, laughing and talking and singing and drinking like this is the best scene they’ve ever been a part of. Music floated throughout the street, music you’ve never heard but know you’ll never forget, because these are the songs happy people listen to. The desert breeze swirls between your feet as the beat takes over.
You are 9 years old and just that night, you can fly. All eyes are on you - maybe 10 or 100 - cheering, recording, laughing, whistling, as you float above the busy streets, above the giant screens, head shining among the stars. The lights are neon, the world is neon, you are neon. The music is flooding and your body is the slipstream.
You are 9 years old and the world is yours for as long as you want it. You tell yourself never to forget it. Even after everyone goes home. Even after the lights go out.