Homecoming

by August Straumanis

This morning I was woken up by a marching band. The parade was in town—horns crashed through the treetops, majorettes passed out smiles like electrocutions to the crowd. A biker gang rode by with a caged tiger in tow, a small mirror lodged in its jaw. In its reflection I saw that I was a train collision two states over, sputtering code at the junctions of my nerves. I was the eye of the world, the sapphire inside the navel of the acrobat. The tiger passed on and banners flooded the street, buffeting me about with their churning tides of color. I escaped, stumbling, missing both my shoes.

August Straumanis was born in Iowa and is a near-lifelong resident of Northern Colorado. He is a current undergraduate creative writing student at the University of Colorado Boulder.