Poetry June 2007

Bullet

Hear the author read this poem

It was like a really heavy seed, so I thought, Plant it.
No soil, so I swallowed it.

How to make it not the thrown stone, not the grape of wrath.
Make it not the animal’s eye gleaming at the attack.

Think tuft of cotton, not glint of cobalt.
A bluebell in my woods near moss.

There will be a loud report.
No. There will be snow falling on the shrub.

It was a heart and I its house, and I opened my door and it went out.
Small button on a blouse, then buckle of a belt.

But there was its pulse.
The tip of a jackhammer, tongue of an alarm.

I sang along.
I looked right in the mother’s gleaming eye.

It’s innocent, I said. Innocent.
Small ball.

No. I swear when my fingers unfurled, I held—a silver jonquil.
Maybe I mothered when I should have fathered.

Maybe a seed not for the start but for the end.
There was a small ball in the boy’s fist. And a voice in his ear, Throw it.

Darcie Dennigan's first collection, The NEW Mothers, will be published next spring. She lives in Los Angeles.
Presented by

The 86-Year-Old Farmer Who Won't Quit

A filmmaker returns to his hometown to profile his neighbor, the patriarch of a 70-acre family farm

Join the Discussion

After you comment, click Post. If you’re not already logged in you will be asked to log in or register.

blog comments powered by Disqus

Video

The 86-Year-Old Farmer Who Won't Quit

A filmmaker returns to his hometown to profile the patriarch of a family farm

Video

Riding Unicycles in a Cave

"If you fall down and break your leg, there's no way out."

Video

Carrot: A Pitch-Perfect Satire of Tech

"It's not just a vegetable. It's what a vegetable should be."

Video

An Ingenious 360-Degree Time-Lapse

Watch the world become a cartoonishly small playground

Video

The Benefits of Living Alone on a Mountain

"You really have to love solitary time by yourself."

More in Entertainment

More back issues, Sept 1995 to present.

Just In