but anyway, there I am, running, running, 35,30, 25, 20, / and God almighty there’s the touchdown.
I wonder if the worlds we first know / leave us the way we are
Which is to say, violence does not end with flesh rupturing; / the body knows to translate trauma into silhouettes.
Nobody covers your eyes / though you are too young to witness this
rifle between his knees, / whom I mistook for a farmer before I knew everyone / awaited something infernal.
Vicky Brown Varela
you’ll be in a hospital bed next to a gunshot / victim, thread embedded in the both of you.
you touch a dead bee’s stinger to / see how it feels
She knew I needed a refill, her eyes glanced up from the clipboard / in her hands to me. Her eyes landed right below mine.
The left one. The one left / with remembering her,