Poetry
EMILY AS WE DISCUSS THE BULLET WE FOUND IN THE BACKYARD
Gasped like lungs
trying to exist outside
of a body, Emily
& I took turns holding
the unfired bullet,
saying nothing at all,
we passed it back
& forth without pain
of show or question.
I went back to mowing
the lawn, thought through
a thousand scenarios
that had answers only
in the possibility
of the chamber.
We own no guns
& we felt no better
prepared for those
that do by having now
a projectile of such great
intent. Emily kept it,
keeps it still, next to her
jewelry box, those things
too valuable to ever wear.
EMILY AS A UTILITY OF REFLEX
It’s a terrible death
of harmony, to rely
on impulse to shuffle
the placement
of the water, from sea
to boat to forever
again. I am saved
because my first move
is always for Emily.
I have tasted salt-water,
it did little to cleanse
my mouth of her.