Today was supposed
          to be us—

Juneteenth marked with a slow afternoon
               wrapped up in each other.

Instead, it’s just another
         pre-thought plan
         gone sideways—
         you at the Braves game with your BFF,
         Coal recovering,

         me flipping between two screens at Irby’s—

Pacers trying to stretch
       the Finals to seven,
       Braves looking to continue
       their streak of zeros
       on the Mets’ side of the scoreboard,
       hoping the camera accidentally catches

       that flash of your smile in the stands.

I’ll find Juneteenth
     somewhere in Atlanta—
     maybe wander through a park festival,
     soaking in rhythms and scents and laughter,
     people free in every way to be themselves—
     except me,

     still feeling bound by missing you.

Then I’ll bury the day
  in code and comments,
    commits and coffee,
    another library stacked
    as high as my frustration,
    squashing bugs to distract me

    from the unfairness of this holiday without you.

But, Juneteenth or whatever—
         I’m still grateful
                for the day,
        for your friendship
           shining brighter
       than the frustration,

       for the hope that tomorrow
       won’t need a special reason
       to make us feel like Us again.

Today: freedom observed,
       but not felt.

Tomorrow: another chance
          to feel free—

          to finally get back to you.